OWN IT!

𝘎𝘜𝘚 𝘈𝘗𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘚 𝘒𝘐𝘈𝘕 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘈 𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘕 𝘓𝘖𝘖𝘒 𝘖𝘕 𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘍𝘈𝘊𝘌: there was no fun and no games to be had, not with the current situation. he claps a hand on kian’s shoulder with brows furrowed, chucking his chin in another direction. “yo. you got a second?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, plucking kian from whatever he’s doing by wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulder. because, obviously, whatever gus had found was more important than the bullshit kian was doing at the moment. 

when they’re far enough out of ear shot from any passersby, the son of nike leans in conspiratorially. “look, don’t freak out, ok?” he says, ushering the son of hecate into what seems like a nondescript satyr hut, “it’s just, i think --- i think there’s been a murder, bro.” it sounds like a joke, but it doesn’t seem like one - because, as they enter the hut, there is 100% a corpse seated at a breakfast nook. 

it’s fresh, and clearly missing an arm - but there’s no blood anywhere. “you think it was magic?” gus asks, giving them the impromptu roles of detective (gus) and sidekick (kian, obviously), “maybe someone really wanted him dead, you know? there’s a secret here, and we’re not leavin’ til we figure it out.” 

realistically, it was natural causes.

credence frowned at that. “i didn’t mean actually scare them. gods know they have seen enough scary things.” 

gus pisano was a patchwork of every boy he’d hanged out with back in arizona: brass, vulgar, and of course, a glorious testament to overt masculinity. credence had put in the effort to make sure he was far from those boys, taught himself elegance, made himself something new, but here he was, taking a stroll with one.

when gus pointed, credence was already fishing out his trusted map, a tattered brown scroll that he unfurled. ink spilled across it quickly and soon, he could see names of the animals around, but no ‘headless monster’. credence sighed, holding a hand up when gus handed him his map. “whatever it is, it’s not real. probably a ghost story passed around camp. we should go back, i am in desperate need of a bath.” he scoffed, then looked at the other. he was so familiar, a ghost of the boys from his past. 

“hey, where did you live before coming here? where did you come from?”

"𝘖𝘏." eyebrows knit together easily, fully confused and fully not understanding credence’s endgame. “well, i didn’t either - they’re just a bunch a girls, dude.” gus pisano pivots, and gus pisano doesn’t care: when you stood for nothing, it was easy to fall for anything. 

he doesn’t pay much of any mind to credence’s thoughts --- they obviously had to have the same map, right? so whatever the son of zeus was seeing, so too did the son of nike. he scuffles feet, crosses arms against chest. “you pussy bro?” he asks, casual as ever, “i don’t think those nymphos’d lie to us. but if you wanna go back to camp, i mean...” gus scratches the back of his head with a wayward hand, feigning confidence. “...go for it, bud. just let ‘em know i’ll be back when i find whatever’s haunting us, yeah?” 

the question, however, causes him to smile from ear to ear. “chattown,” he answers, sudden pep in his step, “chattanooga, tennessee. you ever been? my dad,” gus begins, fully recounting a story already told, “my dad, he owned this am/pm downtown - 26th and cowart - real busy, had lotsa regulars. me and my bros, we helped run that shit.” 

there’s a very clear sense of pride in his voice.

credence wasn’t sure what had made him agree to this – foolishness? a freudian slip? tedium? 

nonetheless, here he was in the middle of the woods with the man that’d given him a headache the other day, hunting some ghost story from the nymphs. “yes,” he answered curtly to the question, blue eyes trained on the forest path ahead until they rolled at gus’ comment. “we’ve been walking for about half an hour, so if there isn’t a monster out in the woods, i am going to make those nymphs cry.” he scoffed, brushing away a leaf from his dark strands. “if you say we’re lost, i am also going to make you cry, pisano.”

𝘎𝘜𝘚 𝘒𝘐𝘊𝘒𝘚 𝘈 𝘙𝘖𝘊𝘒 𝘐𝘋𝘓𝘠, huffing a laugh in agreement despite the clear chauvinism. they were just two dudes, right? gus mastered the art of locker room talk as a child, and now seemed as good a chance to flex as any. “ha, yeah,” he says with a sniff, “we could prolly scare the shit outta those bitches.” 

truly, what bonded two men more than casual misogyny? gus’ hyper masculinity would wait. 

It was clear that Gus didn’t believe him, at least from Asher’s point of view. “Right,” he repeated back, nod slow but deliberate. “If I was a porn star, why would I lie about it? It’s not like those are faces… or body parts that people would forget.” Hell, if Asher Jones had been a porn star, he probably would have broadcasted that title to the entire camp. “That’s a pretty broad brush to paint with. New York has got a lot of fucking people,” he reasoned. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m stuck up as hell, but I’m actually better than most of the people from New York…” he quipped, the smirk that tugged at his lips meant to give away the joke, but he wasn’t sure how much people from Tennessee picked up on satire. “My secret…” for fuck’s sake. At this point he’d just roll his eyes. It was actually funny to him. “You watch those videos a lot then? The ones that I allegedly star in?”

an elegant hand instantly rose like a curled snake ready to bite, smacking the hand away. “no touching,” credence reminded with a stern gaze this time. who was this person? was the foolishness a front, a mask that hid a different person underneath it? the more credence pondered over, the worse the ache in his temple got – prompting him to roll his eyes and glide away instead, blue robe swelling up behind him, feet ardent to reach the dining hall. “the bronze statue, you mean,” he scoffed at the mention of the new son of athena. “it isn’t a choice. if you want to unlock your powers, it’s mandatory.” one end of credence’s giant, flowy robe reached up to gus’ face as a breeze rushed past them. “and, just to be make sure we’re on the same page, what exactly do you picture monster hunting as?”

“…” Omarion stared at Gus, stunned into silence by the question. The son of Artemis pulled his arms to himself, rubbing the inside of them against his chest. “Not exactly crack but I’ve been clean for years now.” He responded before clearing his throat and upnodding at Gus.

“They’ve got thoughts and emotions just like us. Trust me. “ Curling his hand into a fist, he extended an arm to bump fists with the other. “Omarion. Nice to meet you, Gus.” Kind of. He was still a bit shook at how the question left him feeling exposed. “And you don’t need to pay me back. It’s all good. You don’t owe me anything for looking out.”

𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘎𝘙𝘐𝘕 𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘛𝘚 𝘐𝘕𝘛𝘖 𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘔𝘜𝘊𝘏 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘈𝘞𝘒𝘞𝘈𝘙𝘋 - what were the chances? “shit, you forreal? i’m sorry, dude, it was, uh...” he scratches the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. “you know, a joke. guess it’s not that funny, tho.” he does, however, return the upnod, even if this whole situation makes him want to cringe out of his skin. “i just never heard a’ someone talking to goat people, you know? and i don’t think i’m better’n you, either, i snorted a lot a’ adderall in high school. like... a lot.” he’s basically talking to fill space at this point, to relate to omarion - but when the fist bump is returned, his nerves return to normal. “like the singer? cool. hope we get to fight side-by-side, sometime.”

“No. Why did you bring me here?”

@wingedgus·

Joshua couldn’t help the incredulous look and small chuckle at the suggestion that he might try something when both of his hands were currently above his head. Or that getting punched would scare him. He didn’t even know this guy’s name and was immediately fascinated. “Pali,” he said, filling in the blank that was left open, “which is good ‘cause that’s where I’m headed. Don’t need a pit stop.” With that clarified, he started to move forward at a quickened pace, wanting to get moving before stone got wet and slippery or dirt became too muddy. If the new guy was a fellow Pali then keeping up wouldn’t be a problem. “What’s your name, new guy?”

“why did you go off a tangent about ‘ampm downtown’?” he matched the huff without skipping a beat, but not before adding his very own signature credence wright pomp to it. the name ‘nike’ however, made the storm witch halt in his tracks. “nike – like the goddess of victory.” a smirk played across his features. “maybe you’re not so bad after all. what was the name again? pus? oh—it’s gus.” compliment someone one moment, take it all away the next. “you’re fine. have you drank the ambrosia yet?” slowly, he began to make for the dining pavilions.

“Stop!!” Yves struggles to get free, arms pushing and shoving to no avail. He even considering a punch to said nutts if that’s what it took. But at the end of the day Yves didn’t have it in him to raise a hand against someone so pretty. “It’s hause Pali, and you don’t belong in it!” Once he’s free, Yves finally springs up to glare daggers at Gus Pisaon (an awful name for an awful person). His hair looked like a disaster, even more than usual. And the angry flush on his cheeks was anything but flatterrig, but thankfully there was no mirror in sight. “The name is Yves deRose,” he says, smacking the bun out of Gus’ hand. “And I”m the one in charge here. You will do well to respect me.” Grabbing a fistful of the man’s collar Yves yanks Gus forward, noses almost bumping. “So help you God if ever lay a hand on me again. Is that clear?” Oh, no. The weirdo smelled nice, too. “What shampoo is that?”

𝘎𝘜𝘚 𝘙𝘌𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘈𝘗𝘏𝘙𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘛𝘌 𝘈𝘛 𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘐𝘕𝘚𝘐𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘊𝘌, fully going back to eating without so much as a warning. “ain’t that what i said?” he replies without missing a beat, “i been on worldstar a couple times: trust me, i belong in house polly.” that was kind of his thing pre-demigodlihood - but that was another story for another time. he listens to yves introduce himself with half-lidded eyes, very clearly not taking the man seriously... even as his gifted breakfast is slapped from his hands. instead, he punches yves’ shoulder. “right - what’re you gonna do? be pretty me to death?” gus fakes shock before snickering and going back to his own food - a futile attempt, seeing as how quickly the son of aphrodite pulls him out of his own personal space. he doesn’t take it for a threat, however, instead seeing it like a puppy trying to play with a full-size dog. 

kian watches as gus takes another bite off his plate, watches the man’s jaw work overtime as he chews and chews and chews. kian stabs at the salad and takes another bite in solidarity. “i’m kian.” he says after he swallows, looking at the other for a moment, eyes flickering down to his plate and back up again. “son of hecate, house mageia and all that other fancy shit we have to do for introductions.” he lets out a laugh, hazel eyes glinting for a moment. “what were you doing before you got here? have a happy home and what not?” it’s easy enough conversation, an attempt to get to know the new demigod. 

credence visibly scoffed when they embraced – appalled. he smoothed away the creases on his robe, unable to keep the grimace on his face because it was already becoming a frown – a perplexed arch of one brow – and then slight bewilderment, facial features like a river as the other pressed on. the last time he’d met a boy like the other was in the bowels of arizona, from a past he’d run away from. “i meant your godly parent,” he rose from where he was sitting, truly in pain from the other’s mannerisms. credence was more than certain that he couldn’t do this sober. “i am getting a drink. if you promise to not touch me, i’ll let you come along.”

when the son of nike sits across from him there’s two things that he notices immediately. one, there is way too much food on both of his plates for one person, let alone demigod, to eat in one sitting. two, the smile that stretches across gus’ face is easy to return in kind. kian takes his own fork and pokes around at his plate—a greeny looking salad with bits of red and purple, some chicken that looks grilled diced throughout. a serving for one, not an army. “dunno.” he responds as he takes a bite of some leafy greens and chicken. “haven’t had any since i got here. i miss them, too.” he thinks about his family’s taco tuesdays together, how they’d all spend a few hours slicing and dicing, cooking and laughing, and lounge around outside with a beer in hand and tacos in their bellies. he shakes his head and laughs, lips turning up at the sides. “pretty sure you can get five guys here, the second kind, not the burger. maybe ask the cooks if they can do tacos one night? you look like a growing boy.” he motions with his fork toward the piled high plate of meat. 

𝘓𝘌𝘚𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘕𝘌𝘋: 𝘎𝘜𝘚 𝘗𝘐𝘚𝘈𝘕𝘖'𝘚 𝘙𝘌𝘍𝘓𝘌𝘟𝘌𝘚 were nowhere near where he thought they were, and that was especially apparent after a round with a boxing bar. stubborn as ever, he perseveres - even with bruises on his face from the metal swinging back at him. 

then, he sees julian, and his entire focus breaks with a thud of metal against bone: another shiner, as gus stands and rubs at his cheek. “swear i’m better at this than i look.” but at this point, his ego was just as bruised as his face. gus chucks his chin at the man’s weapon, lazy smile on his features. “yo - sick stick. what’s your kda lookin like with that, bro?”