#gmevent

A time-honored tradition hosted by the people of Stowe themselves! Right in the sweet spot of Autumn beginning, the town gets together and celebrate with a fun picnic and fundraiser! Half the town makes a basket while the rest are expected to bid on them. All bets are considered donations and will be happily donated to the town for any future events / projects! 

The once age-old tradition was broken down by the basket weavers (aka women) and the basket bidders (aka men) but the event was certainly modernized in 2018 to include non-binaries and give more fairness to the ladies. A week prior to the fundraising event, the township of Stowe holds a meeting and lottery picks the basket weavers! Those who were not selected in the drawing, are the town’s bidders. Down below this post will be the listing of our basket weavers and bidders. 

The idea is that the highest bid for the basket will win the basket. These baskets may be filled with yummy goodies or themed products like body lotions, hand-crafted items, etc. As Taylor Doose would say -- keep this PG, people! Though keep in mind, basket weavers, most people are betting for a delicious lunch! 

And in the midst of all the excitement of the bidding picnic basket wars, there are plenty of tables full of refreshments and hand-made goodies for the whole town to enjoy! 

BASKET WEAVERS 

Alexandria Kaye

Arthur Desai

Emery Farina 

Kassandra Ryder

Kyle Jenner 

Scout Johnson

Meredith Calloway 

Valentina Cabrera

BASKET BIDDERS 

Brandon Segal 

Camila Clearwater 

Constance Faulkner

Maggie Sainte 

Margaret McKee

Matt Blazej 

Miles Parker 

Zhao Re Mi

Welcome to our first event, Stoweys!  We ask everyone to participate for our first event but not every event will require participation on your end. Please tag all open starters as gm:event001 and let’s get this thing started!

The event will last until next Saturday, September 11th.

Nadia felt cold, cold to the bone, as she looked down at her bow, it had been the first one she had made, her pride and joy, it was messy, and the wood she had used had been stiff, cheap, but it was hers nonetheless, the first time she could prove that she didn’t need anyone, anything to protect her, not even a gun, her own hands where more than enough to keep her safe, to keep her fighting. She only needed herself.

Now, it seemed, someone else had come along to prove her wrong, to show her that not even her bows where safe, that no matter what she did there was someone out there prepared to destroy her work, she didn’t know who had done this, or why, but she could hedge a few guesses. Someone who wasn’t happy with her collection methods maybe, or a titan, just hoping to frighten her. Whoever it was she wanted to kill them, tear them limb from limb, snap them in two the same way they had snapped her bow, her prized bow.

Hannah knew herself and something...something just felt off. Could she explain it? No. But it was there, it didn't feel quite right and Hannah just couldn't put her finger on what had changed but something had changed. It was like her centre of gravity had shifted, only a little but enough for her to feel knocked off course and she didn't know how to move it back.

She pondered this as she walked back to her apartment from work, for some strange reason Hannah had decided to go through a longer route tonight, she just couldn't explain why like the fact that something felt off. She couldn't explain either of those things, she just didn't know and it was frustrating. Hannah kept her hands in her coat pockets as she crossed the bridge that was barely two minutes from her home, then her gaze was drawn out across the river where two boats floated in the quiet. It might have been a trick of the light in the dim light that she had, but for a moment in the reflection on the water.

The boats looked to be on fire.

Hannah inhaled sharply as her head started to scream, wave upon wave of images assaulted her mind - shrieking and screaming. She took off at a run, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her to her apartment. Hannah forced her keys into the lock as the smell of smoke and screams of death echoed in her senses, not real - how could that possibly be real? Slamming the door shut behind her, Hannah barely even thought about locking it as her feet carried her to her bed and she collapsed on it. Curling up with a pillow, Hannah's fingers dug into her bedsheets and it was like she couldn't even breathe.

God above, she was going crazy wasn't she?

But then the images hit her with startling clarity, her mother, Clytemnestra, Caster, Pollux. The daughter of Sparta, most beautiful above all - not a woman, a prize to be claimed. There had been so many of them, so many coming to try and claim her, how had there been anything of her left? Menelaus, then Hermione - oh Hermione. Then she had run because she was selfish. Good girls don't tear down and destroy, even if they don't mean to - no good girls stay with their husbands and mind themselves, don't cause trouble, don't do anything but what they're told.

Oh but she'd never been good at that had she? Trouble haunted her, haunted her in everything. Every image that assaulted her head, trouble was everywhere and it was all her fault because she never could leave anything be. She was selfish, she always had been. Whoever she was, she could only destroy and burn everything she touched. 

Then it stopped, Hannah's head flopped down into the pillow she had curled up around. She didn't even fight the tears that came, remembering had drained her and she didn't cry for herself but for everything and everyone that she'd destroyed. It might have been love but it wasn't beautiful, it wasn't romantic - it was pain and destruction. No, she wouldn't be Helen, she would only be Hannah. This time, she wouldn't destroy anything. Hannah owed the world that much.

It was a blessing when the nightmares had finally stopped, until they came back, stronger than before. She thought moving back in with Charley and Mabel would help, give her something else to focus on. And for a while, it worked. But night after night, each time she closed her eyes, Naveen was haunted. Haunted by the thoughts of what she’d done, of the man she’d killed to avenge her family, her quest for revenge and the constant pull it had on her. But there was something more, something dark. She sat by the window looking out at the night sky, and when she closed her eyes for that brief moment, it all flooded back in.

"You will pay for what you’ve done to me, to all of us!" She watched as a dark figure hissed and thrashed about, throwing itself at the bars that confined it. And when she stepped closer, she saw…herself. She saw a woman in chains, with a vicious and wild look in her eyes. A caged animal. She fell back onto the cold ground as the woman lunged at the bars again. "This is your fate. You cannot escape it, Nemesis. You should have done more!"

In an instant, the woman was gone. Everything was gone, only now, she was there in the darkness, bound by chains. She pulled at them, the searing pain seeping down into her flesh, the chains burning at her wrists as she struggled wildly. Voices filled her ears and faces flashed before her. Faces of those who had deserved the punishment she’d handed down, but also of the few that hadn’t, the ones that had suffered from her blind rage and anger.

She was alone. No one would be there to comfort her. Not her brothers, no friends…no one. And that was what she feared the most. To be locked away from everyone she held close.

Her eyes jolted open, and a scream left her mouth. The blonde’s skin felt as if it were on fire, as if there were chains around her wrists. “Please…make it stop,” was the only thing she could get out. It all came back, all of the memories. She had failed to save her family, failed to save the Gods that she’d sided with, and failed to save herself. It was all there.

When her vision finally cleared, Naveen saw that she was still there in her bedroom. It had been more than a nightmare. It was real. But she didn’t want it to be. Was her past life any better than this cursed one had been? The things she’d done in both wasn’t something she wanted to remember. She couldn’t think about any of it.

Her feet barely touched the floor as she glided down the stairs, thinking she had surely woken someone in the house with her cries. She didn’t want them to see her like that, to know what she was. The only thing she could think to do was run. It wouldn’t stop her from being haunted, from seeing those faces. But as she ran out the door, she couldn’t stop the anger that coursed through her body.

She hated it, being locked away in that prison, being turned into that crazed animal. She hated Zeus now more than ever, and she hated those responsible for what she had endured now, for being bound in this place. It was unfair, not only to her, but to those that she had allowed herself to know. To love. Was any of it real? Were any of the people real?

Winter. Penelope's favorite season. It brought her peace and comfort. She could curl up on her bed with nothing but a book and cup of tea or hot cocoa or she would paint something; pictures of black flowers and dim-lit corridors. Dark solitude which made her feel free as a bird. When she would close her eyes she could almost see those corridors. Massive ebony doors. A throne room, dinning room, her bedchambers...

Blinking, Penelope shook her head and lowered down her pencil, tossing a glance at the drawing she was unaware she made. Pomegranate. Again and again, repeating in patterns. The seeds, the plant, the fruit. Groaning, she got up from the chair and got out of her room. Climbing down to the shop, she called out for her mother. It seemed as Deborah wasn't there.

Where could she go? Down in the garden? So late at night?

The wind started hurling, awakening something in Penelope. She felt like the raging weather outside reflected her mixed and troubled feelings. It all came rushing to her heart and she had to pause before the garden door, grabbing herself by the chest, gripping a necklace which swung from the sudden movement. Penelope's vision seemed to blur for a short moment, before she stumbled her way towards the door. Gripping the iron knob firmly, she opened the massive wood and quickly shut the door behind herself, leaning on the black ebony.

And then the feeling disappeared. It was almost as if the upstairs of the house bothered her more than the garden downstairs. As if she felt safer and more free down in the garden. Shaking a strange, ascending feeling Penelope walked around the garden, brushing her fingertips against the petals of all the flowers in the garden, when she came across a single rose. Dark red, almost like blood or pomegranate seeds.

It wasn't supposed to be there. When Penelope touched it, a strangest thing happened. She could almost see how the leaves, which started dying, straightened up. Drawing her hand quickly to herself, Penelope turned around, almost as in frenzy, as a subtle stinging feeling began to rise in her chest again. She almost ran towards the where her feeling dragged her.

It was almost like a madness. Another pomegranate. Penelope took the fruit in her hands, determined to destroy it. She thought she was going out of her mind. She had to destroy it, she had to put an end to this madness and retrieve back her sanity. With a force she didn't know she possessed, she crushed the fruit in her hands. Red, sticky liquor dripped from it, soaking her fingers. It looked like blood mixed with water. Seeds fell around her, but some remained on her palm. In the same frenzy she left she took one in her mouth. 

That was enough for memories to come raging back in. Penelope shrieked and fell to her knees as her head began pounding. Gripping herself by the head and smearing the juice all over her hair, she screamed once more.

Then everything fell silent. She blinked.  She drew her hands away from her face and inhaled once. Twice.

She got up. She looked around herself. "DEMETER!" Persephone screamed violently, calling for her mother. It wasn't for sheer missing her. It was winter. The gaping void in her chest could only be filled by certain someone. Jerking the door open, she climbed upstairs, yelling: "Where is Hades? Melinoe, Makaria, Zagreus my babies! Where are you?"

Persephone remained in a frenzy, not feeling quite herself. Entering her room, she scoffed. This Penelope... She was different than her. Yes, true, they had some striking resemblances, but generally, the girl was suffocating her. And Hades? How could she call him Dominic?

"What. Is. Going. On?!" Persephone hissed. Who was she? Who was Penelope? What is going on? What is going on? That question remained lingering. But, she was determined to find her family. Maybe Hades will know...

The dreams had only been getting worse. She woke up in the middle of the night, screaming fit to wake the dead, and her neighbors had pounded on the walls, glared at her in the hallway in the morning.

She couldn't help it. And though she woke without memory of what had happened, exactly, it seemed as though the smell of smoke had been burned into her nostrils. She couldn't seem to escape it, no matter how hard she tried. For days, she had barely been able to write. Every time she went to set pen to paper, to expose the truths she was beginning to learn, her mind skittered sideways into half-remembered images of flame and ash.

And then the images began to linger: golden statues, a man's leering face, a body dragged behind a chariot, a giant horse looming in the middle of the city, the face of a beautiful girl whose lovely features looked only like death to Cassandra.

Cassandra?

The name was not hers, though it lingered. And like the images of flame, she couldn't seem to be rid of it. They were pieces of a puzzle, unsolved, floating in her memory. The harder she tried to gather them together, the more quickly they seemed to escape.

It was torment, and if they thought her crazy before, they certainly would believe it now. Often, at work, her eyes would glaze over, caught by the images playing out in her mind. She would look down at her paper to see symbols that, though they seemed familiar, made no sense. Symbols she couldn't remember ever seeing before, much less writing.

And then, suddenly, everything changed.

She would not be able to pinpoint, later, exactly when it happened. But as she passed Hannah Homer in the street, with her usual, strangely violent surge of dislike, she remembered. And it hurt.

They were screaming in her ears, all of them: her family, her friends. And her city was burning all over again. She remembered pounding her fists against the tower door until they bled, she remembered tearing the veil from Helen's pretty head, she remembered her brothers and her sisters, her mother and father. And all the while, in the background, the city was burning and people were screaming. She stumbled into the side of a building, shoulders hunched, hands clawing at her ears in attempts to stop the horrible noise. Every memory moved so quickly, barely there before it was replaced by a new one: Ajax's hands on her body, Apollo's anger at her refusal, Hector dragged behind the carriage of Achilles, Clytemnestra and Aegisthus' murdering hands.

It was all blood and fire, memories which tore at her until she was reduced to tears, there in the middle of the street. Even the memories of days before could not soften the pain of what she  could see, now.

The memories were still there, lurking, but their intensity had abated, and Cassidy - Cassandra - found that she could breathe again. But it lasted only a moment: next came the future, that cursed gift.

"They're all here," she murmured. Hector, Achilles, Helen, Apollo: they were all here.

Archer couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. For days, his hands wouldn't stop shaking, his heart wouldn't stop pounding, and he kept waking up screaming and covered in sweat. Was he ill? Was he not as invincible as he was led to believe? Either way, he was frightened beyond his wits. He was getting older, sure, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what death felt like and this wasn't it.

It all came together when he started going for a walk towards his old dealers house. He wasn't going to buy anything, of course, he had promised Paxton that he wouldn't. But he just wanted to prove to himself that he could still walk by and not buy anything.

The street was packed, which he expected. People of all shapes and sizes hovered around trash barrels that were erupting with flames. The cold licked at his exposed skin and he chastised himself for not wearing a coat. Walking over to one of the bins, he put his hands over the fire. And as he stared into the dancing flames, it happened.

A flash of bright, blinding light appeared in front of his eyes and he nearly fell backwards but the fire held him like a magnet. In the flames he saw something horrible, but something he had seen before. Paxton, lying high a top a funeral pyre, and himself leaning down to light it. At first, Archer thought it was a joke, he thought Paxton would just jump up and tell him it was all just a ruse. But his body was cold, there were two gold coins on his eyes. Then he was watching his lover's body disappear in an ocean of heat and smoke. Most people left, to avoid the stench or to avoid his horrid sobs, he didn't know. But he stayed. He let the thick, putrid smoke fill his eyes and he couldn't tell which was tears of sorrow and which were tears of pain. It was all the same in his mind.

Then time started moving backwards. He saw a chariot carrying a body, which wasn't unusual for the war. But then he saw his helmet tumble off the chariot and he could still remember his heart sinking. Hands, covered in blood, and the face of an angel. His scream nearly tore down the sky. All he could think was so much pain. This is my fault, I never should've let this happen, now I'm alone, now I'm alone. 

Time changed again, but now just flickered images that he was now realizing was his life. He could see his mother, in her true form. He saw his father, the great and gentle king of Phthia. His home formed in front of him with Mount Pelion looming in the background of the castle where he grew up. He could taste the dirt on his lips when he went sprinting down the roads. The sounds of his lyre spiraling through the echoing corridors at night. 

And mostly he remembered Patroclus. He remembered seeing him for the first time and being so enraptured by his presence. Lying under fig trees with Patroclus, splashing in the salty ocean with Patroclus, kissing him for the first time and being so scared. He remembered how his name tasted on his lips.