#ichabodsam

@ichabodsam location: outside the big house on like day 1

everything  was  still  somewhat  of  a  blur  &  truthfully,  the  reason  for  that  may  or  may  not  be  ezrah's  current  status  of  sobriety  —  or  in  this  case  a  lack  thereof,  but  he  was  positive  that  even  if  he  had  been  sober  for  this  ceremony,  he'd  still  feel  as  lost.  it'd  been  a  few  hours  max  &  he  really  didn't  understand  why  his  name  had  been  called.  why  artemis  (had  she  been  the  one  to  choose  him?)  thought  he  was  a  good  choice,  fuck  -  he  had  no  idea.  he  was  furthest  from  a  good  choice  &  he  was  quite  sure  a  lot  of  people  on  this  island  could  confirm  that.  but  here  he  was.

stuck.

stuck  in  a  place  he  never  meant  to  be  stuck  in,  but  the  one  quality  ezrah  had  left  lodged  somewhere  deep  within  him  was  ....  a  sense  of  duty.  if  someone  relied  on  him,  he'd  pull  through.  he  failed  once,  he  wouldn't  fail  again.  but  the  whole  thing  still  gave  him  a  headdache,  being  stuck  in  a  place  like  this  away  from  work  &  ...well,  whatever  he'd  had  left  of  his  life  &  faith  (which  really  wasn't  much),  hadn't  really  been  on  the  agenda.  after  dropping  his  suitcases  off  in  his  room,  which  was  apparently  much  more  than  that,  but  he  hadn't  had  the  spoons  to  deal  with  that,  ezrah  made  his  way  outside  to  check  out  the  area  around  the  house,  get  a  feel  for  the  layout,  find  a  path  of  grass  to  maybe  relax  on.

he  didn't  expect  to  find  a  familiar  face  at  such  a  place  already.  he  knew  the  other  had  been  chosen  as  well,  he  remembered  as  much,  but  it  was  still  surreal.  all  of  it.  "so  we're  going  to  hell  in  a  handbasket  together  then?  that's  a  relief."

then it's the sensory feeling of being in a bed that isn't his own. the sheets feel different, the weight of the blankets on his naked body feel off. the pillow isn't as cold as he's used to.

then it's the feeling of warmth around him, not from a blanket, but from a body. it comes back to him in pieces, hazy, dream filled memories of the previous night, only hours ago. he yawns, stretches, and turns to see samael there. "good morning." he says through the yawn, grin spreading over his features. there's only the smallest wince as he moves—he had told sam not to hold back and the son of madness didn't disappoint. "what time is it?"

⟣ ─ ˑ 〃 ۫ the  house  thrummed ,  a  heartbeat  of  music  and  heat  ,  voices  rising  and  falling  in  waves  that  barely  registered  through  nick’s  gin-soaked  haze .  the  sharp  hum  of moondust under  his  skin  blurred  the  edges  of  everything ,  turned  the  mess  napoleon  had  made  into  something  almost  cinematic .  new  year’s  eve ,  but  the  revelry  felt  endless ,  just  like  all  the  other  nights  of  indulgence .

his  attention  snagged  on  samael ,  leaning  against  the  far  wall ,  the  dark  tilt  of  his  smile  enough  to  anchor  nick  through  the  noise .  quiet  but  magnetic ,  the  kind  of  guest  who  didn’t  need  to  move  to  turn  heads  .  nick  downed  the  rest  of  his  drink  and  crossed  the  room ,  slipping  into  samael’s  space  with  a  practiced  ease  that  felt  more  deliberate  now  than  careless .

“ you’ve  got  that  look, ”  he  said ,  letting  his  smirk  bloom  slow  and  teasing .  “ like  you’re  already  over  it  . . . ” he  leaned  a  fraction  closer ,  catching  the  edge  of  samael’s  gaze  in  the  dim  light as he gestures towards the party sprawling infront of them .  “ i’m  betting  you’ve  got  better  ideas  for  how  to  end  the  night . ”

seeing the son of dionysus, perhaps in his element, casimiro moves to stand beside him. he wears a grin on his face, ambrosia laced alcohol warming him from the inside out. part of him is glad that he decided to make himself experience this while another part is nervous of what he could get himself into. he told himself, and others, that he wanted to be more spontaneous in the new year. he figures this would be a start.

he leans over, toward samael's ear. "so, was all of that texting just talk or is there action behind those words?" he raises his scar-stained eyebrow, eyes flashing dangerously. "i'm just curious."