#nephayvms

For @nephayvms

Lucian was laid out on his back, the joint between his lips as he breathed in deeply, he didn't actually get a high from it anymore, just like getting drunk didn't actually get him drunk but it still felt nice if that made any sort of sense. Maybe he was just doing to try and see if it made him any closer to his father. If it would give him any divine revelation, some new facet of power he could cling onto as he puffed. The taste that filled his mouth was actually foul though, dry and acrid. Maybe he never noticed before because he had been high then. Now- it was just like eating burned leaves.

The message he had received from Ziggy had confused him at first, given the fact that he had just seen the male the day before, but he had been making a more active effort to get to know the other demigods in order to better protect them and work with them on quests. And Ziggy wasn't that bad. Sure, the guy had annoyed him at first with dropping baskets at their cabins without any sort of warning, or without anyone asking, but he could sense that he was doing it for a good reason - and Victor did like to think he was a good judge of character. And after that first quest, where Victor had nearly lost Cian... It was oddly comforting that the guy had reached out to him.

Maybe that was why he was willing to head to the man's cabin that morning, after his early morning jog and workout, to see what it was he wanted to do. Perhaps he was going to ask about more physical training, seeing as Victor wouldn't be able to do any magical training to help the other, and he wanted to do so in a private environment so people didn't see him. Regardless, Victor reached the cabin for the children of Hera and let his knuckles rap against the door, though he was sure Ziggy already knew he was there - after all, he knew that Ziggy could read his mind, or at the very least sense his mind as Victor believed that his thoughts were quiet enough that Ziggy couldn't read him amongst the others.

"Ziggy," Victor called out as he waited at the door. "I'm here."

Finding a bunch of cinnamon rolls in his cabin had been unexpected, but not something that Gabe was unused to. Growing up, the man had quite a few people that would drop off a meal or two for him and his family whenever something would happen, and he knew that food was a good way to introduce yourself to others. And though he might not have inherited the baking gene from his nonna, thankfully he did happen to learn a thing or two about cooking and he could repay the baker in turn.

Making sure to cook something that would, hopefully, not bother anyone's allergies, he put it together into a tupperware container before he made his way to the cabin that the man would be staying in. Letting his knuckles rap against the door, Gabe stood there with a smile upon his face until the other male opened the door. "Hi. You're... Ziggy, right? The one that left cinnamon rolls in everyone's cabins? I'm Gabe. I wanted to thank you by offering you something myself. It's caponata, with fresh bruschetta. May I come in?"

@nephayvms location: hera cabin notes: u can bet raul jogged over after getting confirmation there's white choc cookies uwu

Raúl  had  never  thought  the  Hera  cabin  would  smell  like  this. Not  candle  wax  or  sun-warmed  marble,  but  something  gentler:  browned  butter  and  sugar,  carried  on  the  breeze  between  the  columns.  He  paused  on  the  front  step,  one  hand  still  resting  on  the  doorframe,  and  breathed  it  in.  Sweet,  warm,  unassuming.  Almost  like  home,  if  home  had  ever  been  this  soft  around  the  edges.

They’d  met  before—Ziggy,  fresh-faced,  all  quick  hands  and  flour-dusted  knuckles,  had  offered  him  a  cookie  without  a  second  thought.  Raúl  had  accepted  it  out  of  courtesy,  but  it  had  surprised  him—rich  white  chocolate  melting  into  chewy  dough,  the  taste  of  something  made  with  care  rather  than  perfection.  Now,  a  week  into  Ziggy’s  time  at  camp,  the  smell  alone  had  tugged  him  back  across  the  courtyard.  That  and  the  group  message  alert. 

Raúl  stepped  inside  after  a  knock,  the  marble  cool  underfoot,  and  let  his  gaze  adjust  to  the  cabin’s  soft  afternoon  light.  He  cleared  his  throat  gently  so  as  not  to  startle  him.  “You’ve  been  here  a  week,”  he  said,  voice  low,  warmth  threading  through  the  words  despite  the  formality  he  wore  by  habit.  “And  already,  you’ve  turned  this  place  into  a  bakery.  Not  that  I'm  complaining.”  He  stepped  closer,  the  soft  smell  of  sugar  and  chocolate  growing  stronger,  and  added  with  a  hint  of  amusement,  “Tell  me  there  are  still  some  left.”