#godlingstarters

The whole day had left Cassidy reeling- the touch of golden ambrosia on his tongue, meeting his actual father. Even standing in the expansive camp surrounded by the other demi-gods had him feeling a bit like a moose who'd been taught to drive- out of place with no clue how he'd gotten here or if the path before him was even safe. He no doubt looked a little lost as he took in some of the other demi-gods.

Cassidy's hand curled around one of the goblets as the music floated around the woods and bounced off the walls of the cabins. He resolved to deal with it in the only way that came to mind. Force those feelings down and focus on the moment in front of him. Take one step and then the next- or in this case, the taste of booze as it coated his tongue as he tipped his drink back down his throat before he glanced around at the party. Cassidy would have stood out in the crowd of partygoers regardless as, he was dressed in a red and black flannel shirt tucked into tight but faded jeans. His bold silver belt buckle that glinted under the lights of the party showed an engraving of two horsemen riding off into the distance. All that paired with a dark brown Stetson and a pair of cowboy boots with honest to god spurs on them as he hadn't had a chance to slip them off before he'd been pulled into this craziness.

Everything about him screamed country boy without him having to say a single thing. Though the twang in his voice confirmed any lasting doubt about that particular image, as he raised a hand to give a little tip of his hat to someone as they passed him. Might as well make an effort here. Right?

Or maybe it did? Because he wasn’t alone all of a sudden. Axel stood up straight, put on his best smile and gave a small head nod. “Hey!” He called out. “New here. But, uh, probably already figured that out.”

Safe to say, arriving to this sort of festivity wasn't quite what Gabriel has envisioned. He'd imagined heroic battles being fought in the training grounds, magic flying through the air, all sorts of wild storybook adventures. It wasn't what had been sold to the son of Hestia, but it was what he'd been envisioning when briefly told of the group. so, to be handed a letter inviting him to a wild night of debauchery in the son of revelry's cabin... It was a different picture, but he could go along with it. Maybe something had happened that prompted the need to fully let loose instead of restraining themselves.

Maybe they just wanted an excuse to party.

worse, the lump sewn to lars’ throat had yet to fade, seemingly growing harder by each hour. he’d drowned a few jars of mead to combat it, even a bottle of vodka saved for a rainy day, but the attempts meant little to nothing. so the northman took to the mess hall for, well, cooking - something that could be blamed on gabriel for being a constant in his thoughts.

onions whistling on a hot steel pan, he uncorked the vodka and glazed it out with a quick splash, releasing a fragrant steam of air that greeted a nearby demigod. lars looked up at whoever had approached, face a mask of cold passivity except for whatever clouded his washed-out brown eyes.

“kitchen’s occupied,” he declared gruffly.

It's wrong.

The rhythm in his chest, the warmth beneath his skin, the looks thrown his way as he spoke to people in passing. It's wrong. No metronome, no steady tick tock of time passing by in his veins. It's different, and it's... It doesn't take long to figure out whose skillset he'd been gifted with. To let logic dictate other's would be experiencing this, like some lingering will in the air. Punished for others decisions seemed to track.

The wings were handy, at least. Feathery things erupting from his shoulders when trying to reach for an escape, and letting him at least shove himself to a roof rather than a cabin. Feet dangling off the edge, and hoping people didn't look up. Didn't look at him.

"Wait, so like...So our parents are kind of sexist, yeah?" Milo speaks out. "I mean, there's not a single chick demigod here? Is there another camp with the women? Or do they just not give birth to women? Seems questionable to me." To Milo? This was a perfectly logical question...To get under someone's skin. Because they had definitely been midsentence in talking about something COMPLETELY different to the newbie. But he was going to stick to his guns and play dumb. "When I answered this song or whatever, I didn't know there wasn't going to be women demigods." He said with a sigh of disappointment.

The son of Apollo sauntered into the temple, deep brown eyes wide as he took in what he could only describe as majesty. His eyes went from large statue of Zeus looming over him, then over to Hades, Poseidon, Hera, each statue more impressive than the next. It wasn't until he reached Apollo, the god of the sun, did he stop. He took a few steps toward the offering, but stopped. In his hand he held a laurel wreath he'd attempted to make by himself. To his credit, he spent the better part of the afternoon on it, but when it was all finished it looked like a mess. It was the thought that counted, right? With a heavy sigh moved to the alter of his father and laid it down. After saying a few words to himself and to his father, he stepped back, not knowing if he'd done any of that right.

Rubbing a hand to the back of his neck, took a step back and glanced over to see someone else, another demigod perhaps? They were standing in front of another statue, presumably of their parent. He tucked both hands in his pockets and offered a wry grin. "I don't know, not sure if I can see the resemblance…" he teased, looking from the demigod to the statue, and back to the demigod. "Sorry, I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"