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vasito-de-leche · 5 months

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;R1999 PAVIA - General Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Pavia as a character and other related things.

the post about Pavia's love languages and how he shows his affection got a lot of love, so I'm doing a lil more thinking into his character to rlly flesh out how I see and write him before getting to write the second part of that post <3

just a heads up, its preeeetty fucking long. but all of my posts tend to be lmfao

On the subject of Pavia, loneliness and trauma.

In this post talked about the concept of showing affection (not exclusively romantic but just in general) and the relationship Pavia has with his reputation, both as a lone wolf and a skilled mercenary, which affect the way he interacts with those he might deem close for better and for worse. So it's only fair that I do that again in a more general context.

Let's get this out of the way. One cannot talk about Pavia without mentioning or alluding to his solitary lifestyle in some way or another, we've all read his 02 Story, but to only read him as someone who fakes this aura of confidence and who feels deeply insecure and lonely 24/7 is an obvious disservice to his character.

Pavia is defined by a strong sense of self which, yes, originates from isolation and neglect. And you may read this as an active choice for survival, a coping and defense mechanism or the natural progress of someone who has had no one to rely on but themself - all of these readings are valid and can easily coexist! But I would like to insist that Pavia as we know him is confident and comfortable in his own skin, happy to live as an outlier to conventional norms and behaviour.

And that's because he's weaponized loneliness into a strength and a shield. He's outgrown that small, neglected child in the basement.

Hell, in his interview with Pandora Wilson, he mentions the fun of "causing pain" onto others, in the context of his presence being used as a "punishment" for others. He's surrounded by people he considers stupid, and he has fun at their expense when they try to bring him into their shenanigans. Pavia is a confident asshole, it is not a façade for a sad boy.

One quote in particular comes to mind when discussing this aspect of Pavia.

Go back to Rome, where the wolves were born. Said my former boss. He knew I was born in Rome, but didn't know I was raised in Piemonte. He was such a fool, even tried to kill me. So I only kept his tie clip. I didn't tell him that as long as the night will come, everywhere I live is Piemonte.

This line in particular, from my reading on it, speaks volumes about how Pavia has reclaimed the night - alluding to the one place he was forced to live in for his entire childhood, a dark and isolated basement, the concept of loneliness itself - as something that defines him and should inspire fear into others. His wolves are made out of darkness, his Ultimate in-game shows him manifesting out of a dark fog on the ground. And the context of that quote is hostile, it's Pavia's former boss telling him to go back to Rome, and Pavia mentioning that no matter where he goes, as long as the night comes, he's home.

One could argue that the quote is meant to be read differently - instead of Pavia reclaiming something that hurt him to now empower him, he's haunted by it. No matter where he goes, he'll always be in Piemonte, in that dark and isolated basement, with no one to pull him out. And that's fair! To each their own, both are banger readings on that dialogue. I just personally think the former fits better with the character as a whole.

The former reading is also supported by his 02 Story, where he describes the wolves that his Arcanum abilities manifested as "friends he found in the darkness and would never leave him".

One wolf hid behind another, and the pack surrounded him in the darkness of the night. They held each other's heads and tails and coiled together like snakes, bringing with them warmth and restful sleep. These were the friends he found in the darkness, ones who would never abandon or leave him, and who would forever watch over him.

In his Cover profile, his Afflatus is also "Mourning of the Feral Pack [Beast] Night View".

And when you check Pavia's small description in the Role Garment menu, his main garment and the one unlocked at Insight II form the following phrase:

He's always alone, both in the basement and on the street. It doesn't matter now, though. He will never be "alone" from now on.

His Afflatus, his Arcanum abilities, every small detail - everything points towards Pavia owning the night and the darkness that used to hurt him so much as a child. Because it cannot hurt him now that he's made friends with it, in the form of shadow wolves who will never leave him. He's not stuck here with you, you're stuck him with him. (that Insight II quote will be relevant again later when I talk about the lack of? Humanity? so to speak? in Pavia's character)

But anyway! This doesn't mean that the discussion on Pavia and loneliness/isolation should stop there.

After all, his Afflatus also says "Mourning of the Feral Pack" - mourn what exactly? A lost childhood? The family he could've had if his mother hadn't been admitted to an asylum? The young and innocent child that died in that basement so that the current Pavia could exist?

Who knows! Talk about it, it's fun and I love to read other people's takes! <3

On the subject of trauma specifically, I do see Pavia as someone who lives in the present and doesn't think much about the past - he only mentions his parents once in a seemingly disinterested manner, stating that he never visited (and most likely will never visit) his mother. Piemonte is where his abusive aunt raised him, but he shows a certain pride in his city anyway.

It's not that he's overcome and healed from his trauma, it's that he doesn't even register the things that happened to him as traumatic experiences due to the distance and recontextualization of everything.

The fandom portrayal of Pavia as a deeply lonely person often comes hand in hand with him being touchstarved and the experience of feeling any semblance of genuine human connection for the very first time - but I would like to offer an alternative, explained in the next bullet point.

On the subject of Pavia, conventional society and his pack of wolves.

Pavia's official description, as seen in this tweet made by the official global account of the game, is the following:

An independent mercenary lacking in collaborative skills. Employers are content with his excellent abilities, but can't stand his work ethic of ignoring his coworkers.

This, along with his other quotes and the interview with UTTU, point towards how the world sees Pavia as a nuisance of sorts - a punishment, we know this - but it also points towards Pavia's rejection of conventional society.

The way Pavia behaves, the way he insists on maintaining the barrier between himself and conventional society, the pleasure he takes in making others suffer just by BEING THERE NEXT TO THEM, the stress he puts into being alone - it leads me to think that THIS is the result of his trauma.

It's not a deep seated loneliness, it's not yearning and secretly wishing for genuine connections, it's not a fear of the dark or enclosed spaces - it's an absolute and total rejection of the world that failed him.

Pavia cannot feel or grasp loneliness on the same level as other characters might because there is not a single person in this world he would rather spend his time with other than himself. The details of how he got out of the basement and began a life of crime haven't been revealed yet, so I won't theorize about it, but I like to think that everything that Pavia is and represents is one big "fuck you" to a world that left him to rot in that basement.

It all loops back to the previous point - by rejecting mankind and society as a whole, Pavia becomes the opposite: a beast who acts on his own accord rather than the rules that make up polite society. And in doing so, grows closer to himself and his pack. In doing so, he allows his humanity to slowly slip away.

The Insight II quote I mentioned before is a great example of this - the change in his sprites shows Pavia's eyes changing, now with black sclera and sharper teeth, darkness (and two of his wolves) surrounding him. He will never be "alone" from now on because he is now ONE of the pack, because this is where he belongs.

The medium for his Arcanum (not the "wand" used to cast spells and magic, those are different things from what I understand) is "Beast Teeth". Compare this with other characters: Zima's medium are poems, Dikke's medium is the law, Sonetto's medium is curiosity. An arcanist's medium seems to be a concept or object that represents who they are and what they believe in, something that is essential to their life and dear to their core. Pavia's is beast teeth. He's a beast Arcanist.

I like to think that Pavia based his behaviour, knowingly or not, on his pack of wolves. After all, he's the one who conjured them, it makes sense to me that he would subconsciously latch onto them. This would explain his more animalistic traits that show just how disconnected Pavia is from what a regular human being should be.

You guys freak me out when you sleep. What kind of people needs such a long sleep like that? Fall in a coma like a crispy critter, and wake up 8 hours later. …Only god knows how you can do that.

This dialogue implies that Pavia cannot wrap his head around a normal sleeping schedule - which is extremely ironic, considering that wolves sleep a LOT. But I'd attribute this more to the dissonance between him and conventional society than Pavia trying to larp as a wolf. We have to understand that he spent most of his days sleeping away the hunger, that he went on to reject the company of other people - it makes sense to me that he wasn't taught or didn't get to see how a normal person should behave in theory.

Despite this rejection, we can clearly see that Pavia enjoys a very hedonistic life - going on clubs, having a sweet tooth, wearing fancy clothes, shopping, films and whatnot (He's literally wearing Louboutins, guys. The soles of his shoes are RED). He plays the role of mercenary quite well, too. But it doesn't strike me as a writing inconsistency or hypocrisy from his part, Pavia is known for doing whatever he wants, one of his hand tattoos spells "LIBERTA" or freedom in italian, so this tracks. It's hard to be a hypocrite when your moral compass is all about being a wildcard.

I mentioned this in my first Pavia post, but the items attributed to him are all said to be cheap, fake or crudely hand-made.

His glasses are a copy of an actual Italian brand that no one would ever think of mistaking for the real thing, his bracelets and rings are dented and damaged, Pandora Wilson even goes as far as calling it junk. They even describe his earrings as rough workmanship. And yet, Pavia brags about his clothes and enjoys shopping. There's that small dissonance again - he enjoys bragging but does not know (or care) about the actual value or authenticity of his material possessions. (Pavia wears fake Louboutins, this is my headcanon, thanks for coming)

He plays the role of mercenary quite well, too. I'd also argue that the more violent aspects of his personality have to do with his line of work. This tweet confirms the majority of Pavia's tattoos and what they say - the one on his arm is "La Cosa Nuova", the sicilian mafia for those who didn't know. I won't go in-depth about the real life actions of such group, but it's clear that Pavia is or has been part of it within the world of Reverse: 1999.

Entering headcanon territory.

The two bullet points from before were mostly just analysis on how I read Pavia based on all evidence in-game, but now I get to talk about personal headcanons I have about him <3

I've explained pretty much everything I wanted to say about Pavia for now, so these are just gonna be rapid fire headcanons.

First of all, Pavia is a light sleeper.

The lightest sleeper you'll ever meet, even a soft whisper could wake him up - but this isn't because of some hidden fear of waking up back in his aunt's basement. Because he had nothing to focus on but the sounds within that basement, he greatly developed his hearing and his Insight II development further heightened his senses. Pavia is used to dark, silent spaces, so any unknown noise will put him on edge and wake him up. Sometimes, he pretends to sleep to get out of doing work.

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't move at ALL when sleeping and tends to stay in the same position throughout the night.

This is something he learned, rather than something that comes naturally, because he tends to sleep with the pack and there's little space to move without accidentally kicking Andrea or Leon in the face.

Next. Pavia doesn't know that he resembles his mother a lot.

As for his mother, there are two possibilities: One, she's truly dead and he doesn't know, based on his 02 Story where his aunt confirms that Pavia's mother died a few years later, as well as Pavia's dialogue in which he talks about his mother as if she were alive. Two, she was alive the whole time and Pavia found out years later that she was committed to an asylum and his dialogue about his parents is correct.

Regardless, I like to think that he never saw her again once he was taken into his aunt's care, and that she never told him that the reason she put him in that basement was because he looks so similar to her "deceased" sister. Since they weren't there to raise him and he didn't hear anything about them from his aunt, Pavia holds no resentment and no love towards his parents, because they're total strangers to him.

Next. His wolves' names are interchangeable.

Pavia cares for his pack, and the wolves care for him in return - they were created for that very reason after all. Their dynamic and relationship is a mystery to everyone and it's much too complex to even put into words, but because they're still magical constructs he creates, their behaviour and individuality relies heavily on Pavia's skills as an Arcanist.

There are days in which it's very easy to confuse them, and there are days when it's very obvious how to tell them apart. He's had years to perfect them, to "raise" them if you will.

While the pack might not be around 24/7, they're always in the back of his mind. He can also communicate with them because of it. They don't mind if Pavia confuses them, but if someone else does it? Prepare to get bitten to death, I guess!

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #r1999 #r1999 headcanons #reverse 1999 pavia #pavia #its me yes i love him yes #i lied i didnt talk about everything i think of pavia #i specifically wanna ramble about the loss of humanity but i have no idea how to implement it here in a way i like #but im pretty content with this post!

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cosplayproblemsposts · 1 year

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Running and avoiding are much easier

Summary: It is hard to walk away from a certain set of beliefs and it's tough to be entitled to the game of immortality. The full moons of the werewolves and the infection of perversion, diseases of leaving are indeed hard but avoiding the entire thing is much easier.

Male character x male reader

Warning: Religious trauma and angst ending.

The concept of fear comes in many forms and the context of beliefs made it even more difficult and you hated it. The idea and the structure of solitude, it is nauseating to play along to the plague of being 'normal'.

"Oh don't be so dramatic Crowley, a date with a beautiful woman won't kill me" you exclaim to the displeased redhead. "Yes, it would this is the fourth brunette this week" you roll your eyes as Aziraphale finally sat down.

"Aziraphale back me up here, Crowley being his usual dramatic self" Aziraphale fiddles with his bowtie. You eye the blonde with disbelief "Oh you got to be joking, you can't be considering his little notion are you?". The blonde adverts his gaze to the demon "See angel here has a good head on his shoulders".

You weren't angry but disappointed in them, why believe in what your heart wants and not the logical and realistic alternative that stands as the right 'thing' and 'choice'. You huff and shimmy deeper into your leather chair "I-I'm deathly sorry Y/-" you cut him off with a loud scoff.

"Don't give me that!" Aziraphale looks at Y/N angry? frustrated? annoyed? expression. "Oh C'mon Y/N don't act like that, me and Aziraphale are just worried that's all" you wanted the easier way out of this conversation so you took it.

"We believe it would be better to find a healthier and easier way to cope with this internal fear," Aziraphale says after he collects himself. Crowley was about to add something else but you were up and making your way to the bookstore's entrance "I wish you two a lovely evening and cheers". "Oh do wait Y/N w-we just want t-" Aziraphales words were long forgotten and Crowley's chase came to an end.

2,100 BC the beginning of werewolves in ancient Greece and Rome is the year you met the two entities.

You were a wood carver and sculpturer who sold to the middle class and high class of Greece. Aziraphale eyes sparkle at the beauty of the smooth workings of art "tempt to purchase one or many".

A smooth greek accent of a middle age man steals the angel's attention "I admire your work, you are the one who molds this beautiful masterpiece?". You grin and nod with pride "yes I'm the one who brought my vision of love to life" Aziraphale lips part in a pure gold manner "L-love?". You hum "Yes the beauty of love" your eyes were intimidating but yet bold in color and illusion.

"How magical" Aziraphale swoons his gestures in an adorable fashion that made you chuckle. "I wish you could have seen the process, now that is the true work of love" Aziraphale could listen to you talk for an eternity if you allowed him to. "Ah yes the development and hard work you..." Aziraphale finally realized he hadn't even asked your name. "Y/N L/N" the angel smiles "Aziraphale" you whisper the blonde's name under your breath with no intention of forgetting.

"Aziraphale where are you?" the newfound voice made you meet this glasses-wearing male. "Oh there you are" this redhead approaches and just by looking at him, he is the total opposite. Aziraphale was white as snow and pure gold for him dark and rose gold "Oh I was observing this man's artwork".

"Oh yeah lovely now C'mon we are gonna be late" you frown all of a sudden "Late? late for what?". Crowley huffs as Aziraphale decided to answer your question "Poetry, a man named Andie reads his written work". You nod, you've heard of him and his crazy beliefs of wolf-like creatures "enjoy your poetry hour" Crowley nods "Yes we will, and good day to you". They were gone, you never felt so intrigued for quite some time.

A tall trench coat figure stalks down the busy streets "I'm not wrong to know what's right and what's wrong" you mutter out. "I know what I am and...their" slowing down in pace you realize where your steps have taken you.

A church is a building that is constructed out of break and wood. Installation to keep many warm and comfortable from the cold of the ungodly temptation "What have I become?" you wanted to throw your words away. You weren't yourself and you know that you'd be one of the happiest men alive if you weren't so afraid.

You made your way across the street to the standing church "light, white and firm" rambling in a whisper. Delicate and happy "Just set your mind and heart to the task before you and you would be free".

You took a seat in one of the many rows of pew chairs "open your heart and allow him in" with no warmth and no comfort. You felt absent from the two things instead you felt disappointment and doubt "why do I sit here in doubt".

Why is it hard to leave but easier to avoid the thought of leaving "are you okay?" a voice made you lightly jump. The priest's wife stares at him with curiosity "I'm fine just questioning a few things" she hums. "Why?" if you could you'd laugh for doesn't she see why "I believed I knew what it was to feel and understand love but it seems I don't".

She hums "Love can come in many shapes and sizes" Let's be honest you thought she'd just say something like the holy Christ. The sacrifice of the man himself and the power of gods love can save everyone and everything "I-I...thank you". This strange woman smiles and bids you farewell and leaves you there is a much lighter heart.

It had been months since you have spoken to the duo and the woman you decided to keep as a friend. The full moon couldn't be any rougher and dull "Y/N you need to see a doctor about your back" Anna recommends.

You shook your head "no, the transformations always leave me like this for a few days" Anna could only scowl. "You have a funny way of reassuring your friends" Anna watches your frown "I-I...oh be quiet". Anna laughs at your little embarrassed expression "I'm just teasing" Anna goes back to the menu. "What are you gonna order?" Anna asks which made you slouch "Steak".

"You ordered steak last time and time before that and the time previously" Anna points her index finger at you. "Okay!" you threw your hands up in defeat "the crab special looks promising" Anna wiggled her eyes brows at you.

"What?" Anna eyes the background scenery behind you "What are you looking at?". She quickly stubs your shoed foot under the table "Don't look silly" you groan "What is it then?". "You know I care about you right?" you nod as Anna sets one of her hands on top of your right one. "You can avoid a lot of things and" Anna has a problem with stretching out so much context, that's another way to put it I guess...She doesn't get to the point fast enough.

Annas' eyes advert upwards as if her eyes met another person's eyes "Gentlemen" she clears her throat and gives you an apologetic gaze before taking her to leave. You didn't look up or over your shoulder for the thought that she set you up made your stomach and heart twitch.

"Y/N, please hear us out" Arizaphale speaks first as Crowley goes off to fetch the angel a seat. "You have been quiet for seven months and you have been unreachable" Y/N wanted the angel to stop talking and leave him alone. "Seven months and five days" you mutter loud enough for the blonde to hear.

"Please, Crowley and I want the best for you, and if you deem it appropriate to end our friendship then... " Aziraphale smile falls for you wouldn't even spare him a glance. "Crowley, he hasn't budged" the demon makes a face "he can't be quiet forever Aziraphale". "Go away" the two stare at you "what?" Crowley says "I'm done, our friendship has grown cold and I'd like you two to acknowledge my choice".

"Of course, you two don't have to respect it but you can and you will accept it so... goodbye" with that your up and gone.

The two watch you leave the restaurant and no you weren't in a hurry and no you don't regret your decision for now. Yes, you'd regret it later on but you have so many years to get over it and they do too.

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angelthefirst1 · 29 days

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The same beginning and end convergence concept that I talked about in my last post is at play with the following signs...

The official AMC skybound page talks about Carol's cookies 🍪 being in the Echelon briefing.

Emily also posted a picture of a cookie on her instagram story at the same time that she posted the pizza and conspiracy theories stories.

Unfortunately, I didn't bother saving that one, so if anyone has it, send it to me, please 🙏 I'll add it here.

Carol was making cookies at (A) Alexandria 🍪 when the first wolf walker was found. This wolf walker has a bullet hole right where Beth's was...

Carol herself represented the Wolves.

I've always said Carol and Beth are interchangeable, Carol is foreshadowing Beth's story.

Carol's cookie recipe substituted eggs (Easter eggs) for Apple sauce 🍎 Apple = reunion.

Emily's album, "OH" Jonathan, the song Mortal, was about Beth and Daryl...

The flower artwork on her album cover for Oh Jonathan is the same as on Carol's cardigan, and it = reunion.

The Book of Carol is the introduction to the wolves, the cookies with Apple 🍎 sauce (reunion), and the "oh" Jonathan flower jumper of love. ❤️

They all represent Beth's return.

That means Beth is what is in the Echelon briefing, and a Daryl/Beth reunion is coming.

The reason Apple 🍎 = reunion is because a bitten Apple (garden of eden) represents the fall of mankind and separation from God.

Matthew 16.18

I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

I'll leave you to figure that one out.

Undoing that separation = cure and reunion with God.

The Echelon briefing is about Beth and is also about a fake and real cure.

Alexandria in Virginia, where the Wolves first appeared, is a play on the Alexandria of Egypt.

This is important because the pyramid/Louvre/wolf symbolism of Egypt, Alexandria, and France connects them all.

They are all symbolic of the antichrist kingdom.

The ancient Roman Empire once conquered Alexandria in Egypt back in the day. So, it became part of the Roman empire territory.

Biblically, the antichrist is said to come to power out of a revived Roman Empire.

The Roman empire was founded and made great by Alexander the Great. Hence, the name is Alexandria.

The France/Louvre symbolism is a representation of this revived Roman Empire.

The song up the Wolves talks about mother being absent ever since we founded Rome and a party when the wolf comes home...

This same episode with the cookies is when the group at Alexandria has the welcome party.

This is why I say Beth has both Christ and Antichrist symbolism at the same time.

A fake antichrist cure will be what starts the outbreak in the first place (the end is the beginning), and a real cure will bring an end to death.

At (A) Alexandria Rick and Jessie get the A stamp on their right hand.

The mark of the beast that the antichrist makes everyone get, so they can buy and sell, goes on either the right hand or on the forehead (like Carol and the walker with the W) or the right hand, like Rick and Jessie.

That's why Daryl says HELLS that! When he sees the W on the walker. It leads to hell.

Revelation 13.16

And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads:

What happens to the group in Alexandria with Negan is a reworked version of the Antichrist, who makes everyone bow down or "kneel."

It's symbolic of having to bow down and receive the mark of the Antichrist, which leads to death.

Beginning to end, we also have an upcoming first look at Daryl Dixon - The book of Carol (coughs The book of Revelation)

Which will air after the final of 106 off TOWL, and after a show called parish (church)

Beginning to end while Emily is in Paris and posts the Eiffel Tower.

I've mentioned before how the top of the tower is a radio, which means Sirius. (Messanger/angel, which can be fallen or holy)

In the Apple sauce, cardigan, and cookie 🍪 scene with Carol, she says, "She's Sirius" when talking about the cookie recipe.

And now we see Emily post a cookie and Sirius the Eiffel tower (A)

On screen and off-screen, beginning to end mentions, of Carol, cookies, apples, reunions, the Wolves, mark of the beast, A for Alpha (Sherrifs hat), France and the beginning of the outbreak.

It's all lining up 🙌

"Oh," one more thing...

Daryl missed the boat at the end of DD1 and guess who (beginning to end) posts about missing a boat...

Emily...

He catches the boat at the beginning, tho...

She's coming, and so is the beginning of the end.

🍎✝️♾️✝️🍎

#team delusional #team defiance #bethyl #team beth lives #beth greene #beth is alive #beth is coming #beth greene lives #td #beth x daryl #emily kinney #revelation #jesus is coming #antichrist #cookies #eiffel tower

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solreefs · 5 months

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was browsing my notes app and found this. it’s from last year so uh. don’t judge it too harshly.

post-canon Santi angst go brr. cw for guilt and fire because Santi is Santi and I’m me.

Santi falls into a routine.

Never walk home at exactly the same time, so no one can learn his pattern. Stick to side streets in order to better hide, but stay within sight of the more well-traveled streets, in case he needs to disappear among the crowd. Move slowly, scanning for danger at every turn, only moving when he’s sure it’s safe to do so. Trust his training, despite the countless times he’s failed to spot anything until it’s too late.

Don’t think about Murasaki. Don’t think about how he was supposed to protect her, and how she died when he couldn’t do his fucking job.

Check around the house for anyone lying in wait for him. Inspect the windows and door for signs of damage or forced entry. Then, and only then, unlock the front door and enter.

Don’t think about coming home from Belgium to an empty, ransacked house.

Step inside, shut the door quickly behind him, call out to Wolfe if he’s home. Turn the key in the lock, as though it will protect them, as though a locked door ever kept out anyone who really meant them harm. Pretend it makes up for his inability to keep Wolfe, or anyone else, safe.

Don’t think about the Artifex promising Wolfe would have scars to match Santi’s, because Santi couldn’t stop asking questions. Don’t think about the way the man who made the cuts on his chest whispered in his ear, told him he could save Wolfe if he just kept his mouth shut. Don’t think about how Santi agreed, caved to their threats, stopped looking for his lover, abandoned Wolfe to those dark cells beneath the streets of Rome.

Take a deep breath, bite his lip until he tastes blood, the sudden, stinging pain bringing him back to the present. Shrug when Wolfe asks about his day. Say it was all right, tell him about the training exercises, mention anything else Wolfe might find interesting or amusing. Change the subject before he can say anything about the guilt that feels heavy enough to choke him. Ask Wolfe what he’s working on, listen to his lover ramble about his latest project, wonder how he ever ended up with someone so brilliant.

Don’t think about Wolfe being ripped apart by that Translation tag and sent back to the prison he’d spent so long avoiding. Don’t think about how Santi should have seen it coming.

Have a late dinner together. Ignore the concern in Wolfe’s gaze when Santi barely eats anything. Don’t mention that everything tastes bitter these days, or that sometimes even the thought of food makes him feel sick.

Don’t think about the scent of Greek Fire, tasting the bitter, acrid reek of it on his tongue with every mouthful. Don’t think about how the chemicals clung to skin in that cell in Philadelphia.

Do one last perimeter check of the house. Confirm that all his weapons are where they’re supposed to be. Whisper a desperate prayer that if danger comes, this time Santi will be able to protect what matters to him. Go to bed, dim the glows, but don’t turn them all the way off. Pretend he isn’t afraid of the dark like a child.

Don’t think about sleeping in dark tents, war zones, bombs, Greek Fire, all the death around him that he is helpless to prevent. Don’t think about Morgan dying in a blazing inferno as Santi throws himself against her invisible barrier, unable to save her.

Wake up gasping for air, absolutely certain that the house is burning. Sit up, look for the fire, see nothing, and lay back down. Hide his face in a pillow to muffle the terrified sobs he can’t hold back no matter how hard he tries. Lay there, shaking and shattered, crumpling under weight of his guilt and fear, and the knowledge that he is supposed to be better than this. Remember how it used to be said that Niccolo Santi didn’t fail, remember all the soldiers who praised his work.

Don’t think about all the friends who died because of him. Don’t think about Zara.

Stay in bed until the sun rises, then get up and make coffee. Get ready to do it all over again.

Don’t think about what happens when he finally breaks.

#solreefspeak #the great library #my writing

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thewidowsghost · 9 months

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Seeing the Beauty (Piper McLean x Fem!Jackson!Reader) - Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"Wolves," Piper says. "They sound close."

Jason and (Y/n) rise, drawing their swords. Leo and the Coach get to their feet too. Piper tries, but black spots dance before her eyes.

"Stay there," (Y/n) tells her. "We've got you."

Piper grits her teeth, hating feeling helpless. She doesn't want anyone to protect her. First her stupid ankle, and then stupid hypothermia. She wants to be on her feet, with her dagger in her hand.

Then, just outside the firelight, at the entrance of the cave, she sees a pair of red eyes glowing in the dark.

Okay, she thinks. Maybe a little protection is fine.

More wolves edge into the firelight — black beasts bigger than Great Danes, with ice and snow caked on their fur. Their fangs gleam, and their glowing red eyes look disturbingly intelligent. The wolf in front is almost as tall as a horse, his mouth stained as if he'd just made a fresh kill.

Piper pulls her dagger out of its sheath.

Then Jason steps forward and says something in Latin.

Piper doesn't think a dead language would have much effect on wild animals, but the alpha wolf curls his lip. The fur stands up along his spine. One of his lieutenants tries to advance, but the alpha wolf snaps at his ear. Then all of the wolves back into the dark.

"Dude, I gotta study Latin." Leo's hammer shakes in his hand. "What'd you say, Jason?"

Hedge curses. "Whatever it was, it wasn't enough. Look."

The wolves are coming back, but the alpha wolf isn't with them. They don't attack. They wait — at least a dozen now, in a rough semicircle just outside the firelight, blocking the cave exit.

The coach hefts his club. "Here's the plan. I'll kill them all, and you guys escape."

"Coach, they'll rip you apart," Piper says.

"Nah, I'm good."

Then Piper sees the silhouette of a man coming through the storm, wading through the wolf pack.

"Stick together," Jason advises. "They respect a pack. And Hedge, no crazy stuff. We're not leaving you or anyone else behind."

Piper gets a lump in her throat. She's the weak link in their "pack" right now. No doubt the wolves can smell her fear. She might as well be wearing a sign that says free lunch.

The wolves part, and the man steps into the firelight. His hair is greasy and ragged, the color of fireplace soot, topped with a crown of what looks like finger bones. His robes are tattered fur — wolf, rabbit, raccoon, deer, and several others Piper can't identify. The furs don't look cured, and from the smell, they aren't very fresh. His frame is lithe and muscular, like a distance runner's. But the most horrible thing is his face. His thin pale skin is pulled tight over his skull. His teeth are sharpened like fangs. His eyes glow bright red like his wolves' — and they fix on Jason with absolute hatred.

"Ecce,"he said, "filli Romani."

"Speak English, wolf man!" Hedge bellow.

The wolf man snarls. "Tell your faun to mind his tongue, son of Rome. Or he'll be my first snack."

Piper remembers that faun is the Roman name for satyr. Not exactly helpful information. Now, if she can remember who this wolf guy is in Greek mythology, and how to defeat him, that she can use.

The wolf man studies their little group. His nostrils twitch. "So it's true," he muses. "A child of Aphrodite. A son of Hephaestus. The Jackson girl. A faun. And a child of Rome, of Lord Jupiter, no less. All together, without killing each other. How interesting."

You were told about us?" Jason asks. "By whom?"

The man snarls — perhaps a laugh, perhaps a challenge. "Oh, we've been patrolling for you all across the west, demigod, hoping we'd be the first to find you. The giant king will reward me well when he rises. I am Lycaon, king of the wolves. And my pack is hungry."

The wolves snarl in the darkness.

Out of the corner of her eye, Piper sees Leo put up his hammer and slip something else from his tool belt — a glass bottle full of clear liquid.

Piper racks her brain trying to place the wolf guy's name. She knows she'd heard it before, but she can't remember details.

Lycaon glares at Jason's sword. He moves to each side as if looking for an opening, but Jason's blade moves with him.

"Leave," Jason orders. "There's no food for you here."

"Unless you want tofu burgers," (Y/n) offers.

Lycaon bares his fangs. Apparently he isn't a tofu fan.

"If I had my way," Lycaon says with regret, "I'd kill you first, son of Jupiter. Your father made me what I am. I was the powerful mortal king of Arcadia, with fifty fine sons, and Zeus slew them all with his lightning bolts."

"Ha," Coach Hedge says. "For good reason!"

Jason glances over his shoulder. "Coach, you know this clown?"

"I do," Piper answers. The details of the myth come back to her — a short, horrible story she and her father had laughed at over breakfast. She isn't laughing now.

"Lycaon invited Zeus to dinner," she says. "But the king wasn't sure it was really Zeus. So to test his powers, Lycaon tried to feed him human flesh. Zeus got outraged —"

"And killed my sons!" Lycaon howls. The wolves behind him howl too.

"So Zeus turned him into a wolf," Piper continues. "They call . . . they call werewolves lycanthropes, named after him, the first werewolf."

"The king of wolves," Coach Hedge finishes. "An immortal, smelly, vicious mutt."

Lycaon growls. "I will tear you apart, faun!"

"Oh, you want some goat, buddy? 'Cause I'll give you goat."

"Stop it," Jason says. "Lycaon, you said you wanted to kill me first, but . . .?

"Sadly, Child of Lightning, you two" – he nods to (Y/n) – "are spoken for. Since this one" – he waggles his claws at Piper – "has failed to kill you, you are destined to be delivered alive to the Wolf House. One of my compatriots has asked for the honor of killing you herself."

"Who?"

The wolf king snickers. "Oh, a great admirer of yours. Apparently, you two made quite an impression on her. She will take care of you soon enough, and really I cannot complain. Spilling your blood at the Wolf House should mark my new territory quite well. Lupa will think twice about challenging my pack."

Piper's heart tries to jump out of her chest. She doesn't understand everything Lycaon had said, but a woman who wants to kill Jason and (Y/n)? Medea, she thought. Somehow, she must've survived the explosion.

Piper struggles to her feet. Spots dance before her eyes again. The cave seems to spin. "You're going to leave now," Piper says, "before we destroy you." She tries to put power into the words, but she is too weak. Shivering in her blankets, pale and sweaty and barely able to hold a knife, she can't have looked very threatening.

Lycaon's red eyes crinkle with humor. "A brave try, girl. I admire that. Perhaps I'll make your end quick. Only the son of Jupiter and daughter of Poseidon are needed alive. The rest of you, I'm afraid, are dinner."

At that moment, Piper knows she is going to die. But at least she'd die on her feet, fighting next to (Y/n).

(Y/n) takes a step forward. "You're not killing anyone, wolf man. Not without going through me."

Lycaon howls and extends his claws. (Y/n) slashes at him, but her bronze sword passes straight through as if the wolf king isn't there.

Lycaon laughs. "Gold, bronze, steel — none of these are any good against my wolves, child of the Sea."

"Silver!" Piper cries. "Aren't werewolves hurt by silver?"

"We don't have any silver!" Jason replies.

Wolves leaps into the firelight. Hedge charges forward with an elated "Woot!"

But Leo strikes first. He throws his glass bottle and it shatters on the ground, splattering liquid all over the wolves — the unmistakable smell of gasoline. He shoots burst of fire at the puddle, and a wall of flames erupts.

Wolves yelp and retreat. Several catch fire and have to run back into the snow. Even Lycaon looks uneasily at the barrier of flames now separating his wolves from the demigods.

"Aw, c'mon," Coach Hedge complains. "I can't hit them if they're way over there."

Every time a wolf comes closer, Leo shoots a new wave of fire from his hands, but each effort seems to make him a little more tired, and the gasoline is already dying down. "I can't summon any more gas!" Leo warns. Then his face turns red. "Wow, that came out wrong. I mean the burning kind. Gonna take the tool belt a while to recharge. What you got, man?"

"Nothing," Jason replies. "Not even a weapon that works."

"Nothin,'" (Y/n) says. "Unless we're gonna fuckin' box some wolves."

"Lightning?" Piper asks, glancing at (Y/n) with amusement.

Jason concentrates, but nothing happens. "I think the snowstorm is interfering, or something."

"Unleash the venti!" Piper offers.

"Then we'll have nothing to give Aeolus," Jason replies. "We'll have come all this way for nothing."

Lycaon laughs. "I can smell your fear. A few more minutes of life, heroes. Pray to whatever gods you wish. Zeus did not grant me mercy, and you will have none from me."

The flames begin to sputter out. Jason curses and drops his sword. He crouches like he is ready to go hand-to-hand. Leo pulls his hammer out of his pack. Piper raises her dagger — not much, but it is all she has. Coach Hedge hefts his club, and he is the only one who looks excited about dying.

Then a ripping sound cuts through the wind — like a piece of tearing cardboard. A long stick sprouts from the neck of the nearest wolf — the shaft of a silver arrow. The wolf writhes and falls, melting into a puddle of shadow.

More arrows. More wolves fall. The pack breaks in confusion. An arrow flashes towards Lycaon, but the wolf king catches it in midair. Then he yells in pain. When he drops the arrow, it leaves a charred, smoking gash across his palm. Another arrow catches him in the shoulder, and the wolf king staggers.

"Curse them!" Lycaon yells. He growls at his pack, and the wolves turned and ran. Lycaon fixed Jason with those glowing red eyes. "This isn't over, boy."

The wolf king disappears into the night.

Seconds later, Piper hear more wolves baying, but the sound is different — less threatening, more like hunting dogs on the scent. A smaller white wolf bursts into the cave, followed by two more.

Hedge says, "Kill it?"

"No!" Piper replies. "Wait."

The wolves tilt their heads and study the campers with huge golden eyes. One of the wolves steps forward, sniffing around (Y/n), and (Y/n) kneels down, stroking the wolf's ears. Piper watches as (Y/n)'s expression softens as she talks quietly to the wolf, as though missing her own dog.

A heartbeat later, their masters appear: a troop of hunters in white-and-gray winter camouflage, at least half a dozen. All of them carry bows, with quivers of glowing silver arrows on their backs.

Their faces are covered with parka hoods, but clearly they are all girls. One, a little taller than the rest, crouches in the firelight and snatches up the arrow that had wounded Lycaon's hand.

"So close." She turns to her companions. "Phoebe, stay with me. Watch the entrance. The rest of you, follow Lycaon. We can't lose him now. I'll catch up with you." (Y/n)'s head snaps up, and she watches the girl, as though she recognized the voice. A possible girlfriend, Piper wonders, feeling a little disappointed.

The other hunters mumble agreement and disappear, heading after Lycaon's pack.

The girl in white turns toward them, her face still hidden in her parka hood. "We've been following that demon's trail for over a week. Is everyone alright? No one got bit?"

Jason stands frozen, staring at the girl. Piper realizes that something about her voice sounds familiar. It's hard to pin down, but the way she speaks, the way she forms her words, reminds her of Jason.

"You're her," Piper guesses. "You're Thalia."

The girl tenses. Piper is afraid she might draw her bow, but instead she pulls down her parka hood. Her hair is spiky black, with a silver tiara across her brow. Her face has a super-healthy glow to it, as if she's a little more than human, and her eyes are brilliant blue. She is the girl from Jason's photograph.

"Do I know you?" Thalia asks.

Piper takes a breath. "This might be a shock, but —"

"Thalia." Jason steps forward, his voice trembling. "I'm Jason, your brother."

For a minute, Jason and Thalia face each other, stunned. Then Thalia rushes forward and hugs him.

"My gods! She told me you were dead!" She grips Jason's face and seems to be examining everything about it. "Thank Artemis, it is you. That little scar on your lip — you tried to eat a stapler when you were two!"

Leo laughs. "Seriously?"

Hedge nods like he approved of Jason's taste. "Staplers — excellent source of iron."

"W-wait," Jason stammers. "Who told you I was dead? What happened?"

At the cave entrance, one of the white wolves barks. Thalia looks back at the wolf and nods, but she keeps her hands on Jason's face, like she's afraid he might vanish. "My wolf is telling me I don't have much time, and she's right. But we have to talk. Let's sit."

Piper does better than that. She collapses. She would've cracked her head on the cave floor if (Y/n) hadn't caught her.

Thalia rushes over. "What's wrong with her? Ah — never mind. I see. Hypothermia. Ankle." She frowns at the satyr. "Don't you know nature healing?"

Hedge scoffs. "Why do you think she looks this good? Can't you smell the Gatorade?"

The wolf at (Y/n)'s feet lifts her front paws after she helps Piper back onto the ground.

"You always were good with dogs, Jackson," Thalia's eyes twinkle with mischief. She parts with Jason, and wraps (Y/n) in a bear hug. Then her gaze turns slightly angry. "Where've you been?"

The wolf at (Y/n)'s feet barks, staring at Piper.

Thalia looks at Leo. "You and the satyr," Thalia orders, "take this girl to my friend at the entrance. Phoebe's an excellent healer."

It's cold out there!" Hedge retorts. "I'll freeze my horns off."

But Leo knows when they weren't wanted. "Come on, Hedge. These three need time to talk."

"Humph. Fine," the satyr mutters. "Didn't even get to brain anybody."

Hedge carries Piper towards the entrance. Leo is about to follow when Jason calls, "Actually, Leo, could you, urn, stick around?"

Leo sees something in Jason's eyes he doesn't expect: Jason is asking for support. He wants somebody else there. He's scared.

Leo grins. "Sticking around is my specialty."

Thalia doesn't look too happy about it, but the four of them sat at the fire – (Y/n) in between Leo and Jason. For a few minutes, nobody speaks. Jason studies his sister like she is a scary device — one that might explode if handled incorrectly. Thalia seems more at ease, as if she's used to stumbling across stranger things than long-lost relatives. But still she regards Jason in a kind of amazed trance, maybe remembering a little two-year-old who tried to eat a stapler. Leo takes a few pieces of copper wire out of his pockets and twists them together.

Finally Leo can't stand the silence. "So . . . the Hunters of Artemis. This whole 'not dating' thing — is that like always, or more of a seasonal thing, or what?" (Y/n) lets out a snort of laughter, stroking the wolf's snout – the wolf had put her head in (Y/n)'s lap.

Thalia stares at Leo as if he'd just evolved from pond scum. Yeah, definitely liking this girl.

Jason kicks him in the shin. "Don't mind Leo. He's just trying to break the ice. But, Thalia . . . what happened to our family? Who told you I was dead?"

Thalia tugs at a silver bracelet on her wrist. In the firelight, in her winter camouflage, she almost looks like Khione the snow princess — just as cold and beautiful.

"Do you remember anything?" Thalia finally asks.

Jason shakes his head. "(Y/n) and I woke up three days ago on a bus with Leo and Piper."

"Which wasn't our fault," Leo adds hastily. "Hera stole their memories."

Thalia tenses. "Hera? How do you know that?"

Jason explains about their quest — the prophecy at camp, Hera getting imprisoned, the giant taking Piper's dad, and the winter solstice deadline. Leo chimed in to add the important stuff: how he'd fixed the bronze dragon, could throw fireballs, and made excellent tacos.

Thalia's a good listener. Nothing seems to surprise her — the monsters, the prophecies, the dead rising. But when Jason mentions King Midas, she curses in Ancient Greek.

"I knew we should've burned down his mansion," she says. "That man's a menace. But we were so intent on following Lycaon — Well, I'm glad you got away. So Hera's been . . . what, hiding you all these years?"

"I don't know." Jason brings out the photo from his pocket. "She left me just enough memory to recognize your face."

Thalia looks at the picture, and her expression softens. "I'd forgotten about that. I left it in Cabin One, didn't I?"

Jason nods. "I think Hera wanted for us to meet. When we landed here, at this cave . . . I had a feeling it was important. Like I knew you were close by. Is that crazy?"

Nah," Leo assures him. "We were absolutely destined to meet your hot sister."

Thalia ignores him. Probably she just didn't want to let on how much I impress her.

"Jason," she begins, "when you're dealing with the gods, nothing is too crazy. But you can't trust Hera, especially since we're children of Zeus. She hates all children of Zeus."

"But she said something about Zeus giving her my life as a peace offering. Does that make any sense?"

The color drains from Thalia's face. "Oh, gods. Mother wouldn't have . . . You don't remember — No, of course you don't."

"What?" Jason asks.

Thalia's features seem to grow older in the firelight, like her immortality isn't working so well. "Jason . . . I'm not sure how to say this. Our mom wasn't exactly stable. She caught Zeus's eye because she was a television actress, and she was beautiful, but she didn't handle the fame well. She drank, pulled stupid stunts. She was always in the tabloids. She could never get enough attention. Even before you were born, she and I argued all the time. She . . . she knew Dad was Zeus, and I think that was too much for her to take. It was like the ultimate achievement for her to attract the lord of the sky, and she couldn't accept it when he left. The thing about the gods . . . well, they don't hang around."

Leo remembers his own mom, the way she'd assured him over and over that his dad would be back someday. But she'd never acted mad about it. She didn't seem to want Hephaestus for herself — only so Leo could know his father. She'd dealt with working a dead-end job, living in a tiny apartment, never having enough money — and she'd seemed fine with it. As long as she had Leo, she always said, life would be okay.

Leo watches Jason's face — looking more and more devastated as Thalia describes their mom — and for once, Leo doesn't feel jealous of his friend. Leo might have lost his mom. He might have had some hard times. But at least he remembers her. He finds himself tapping out a Morse code message on his knee: Love you. (Y/n), who had seen the movement of Leo's fingers, smiles gently at him, also decoding the message – one of the cons of being best friends with the smartest girl at Camp Half-Blood, you learned stuff, like Morse Code.

Leo feels bad for Jason, not having memories like that — not having anything to fall back on.

"So . . . " Jason doesn't seem able to finish the question.

"Jason, you got friends," (Y/n) tells him gently, reaching out to squeeze his hand in a sisterly fashion. "Now you have a sister. You're not alone."

Thalia offers her hand, and Jason takes it in his free one. The wolf in (Y/n)'s lap nudges her hand again, and (Y/n) takes her hand from Jason's, and starts petting the white canine's ears again.

"When I was about seven," Thalia begins, "Zeus started visiting Mom again. I think he felt bad about wrecking her life, and he seemed — different somehow. A little older and sterner, more fatherly toward me. For a while, Mom improved. She loved having Zeus around, bringing her presents, causing the sky to rumble. She always wanted more attention. That's the year you were born. Mom . . . well, I never got along with her, but you gave me a reason to hang around. You were so cute. And I didn't trust Mom to look after you. Of course, Zeus eventually stopped coming by again. He probably couldn't stand Mom's demands anymore, always pestering him to let her visit Olympus, or to make her immortal or eternally beautiful. When he left for good, Mom got more and more unstable. That was about the time the monsters started attacking me. Mom blamed Hera. She claimed the goddess was coming after you too — that Hera had barely tolerated my birth, but more demigod children from the same family was too big an insult. Mom even said she hadn't wanted to name you Jason, but Zeus insisted, as a way to appease Hera because the goddess liked that name. I didn't know what to believe."

Leo fiddles with his copper wires. He feels like an intruder. He shouldn't be listening to this, but it also makes him feel like he's getting to know Jason for the first time — like maybe being here now made up for those four months at Wilderness School, when Leo had just imagined they'd had a friendship.

"How did you guys get separated?" Leo asks.

Thalia squeezes her brother's hand. "If I'd known you were alive . . . gods, things would've been so different. But when you were two, Mom packed us in the car for a family vacation. We drove up north, toward the wine country, to this park she wanted to show us. I remember thinking it was strange because Mom never took us anywhere, and she was acting super nervous. I was holding your hand, walking you toward this big building in the middle of the park, and . . ." She takes a shaky breath. "Mom told me to go back to the car and get the picnic basket. I didn't want to leave you alone with her, but it was only for a few minutes. When I came back . . . Mom was kneeling on the stone steps, hugging herself and crying. She said — she said you were gone. She said Hera claimed you and you were as good as dead. I didn't know what she'd done. I was afraid she'd completely lost her mind. I ran all over the place looking for you, but you'd just vanished. She had to drag me away, kicking and screaming. For the next few days I was hysterical. I don't remember everything, but I called the police on Mom and they questioned her for a long time. Afterward, we fought. She told me I'd betrayed her, that I should support her, like she was the only one who mattered. Finally I couldn't stand it. Your disappearance was the last straw. I ran away from home, and I never went back, not even when Mom died a few years ago. I thought you were gone forever. I never told anyone about you—not even Annabeth or Luke, my two best friends. It was just too painful."

"Chiron knew." Jason's voice sounds far away. "When I got to camp, he took one look at me and said, 'You should be dead."'

"That doesn't make sense," Thalia insists. "I never told him."

"Hey," Leo says. "Important thing is you've got each other now, right? You two are lucky."

Thalia nods. "Leo's right. Look at you. You're my age. You've grown up."

"But where have I been?" Jason says. "How could I be missing all that time? And the Roman stuff . . ."

Thalia frowns. "The Roman stuff?"

"Your brother speaks Latin," Leo says. "He calls gods by their Roman names, and he's got tattoos." Leo points out the marks on Jason's arm. Then he gives Thalia the rundown about the other weird stuff that had happened: Boreas turning into Aquilon, Lycaon calling Jason a "child of Rome," and the wolves backing off when Jason spoke Latin to them.

Thalia plucks her bowstring. "Latin. Zeus sometimes spoke Latin, the second time he stayed with Mom. Like I said, he seemed different, more formal."

"You think he was in his Roman aspect?" Jason asks. "And that's why I think of myself as a child of Jupiter?"

"Possibly," Thalia replies. "I've never heard of something like that happening, but it might explain why you think in Roman terms, why you can speak Latin rather than Ancient Greek. That would make you unique. Still, it doesn't explain how you've survived without Camp Half-Blood. A child of Zeus, or Jupiter, or whatever you want to call him — you would've been hounded by monsters. If you were on your own, you should've died years ago. I know I wouldn't have been able to survive without friends. You would've needed training, a safe haven —"

"He wasn't alone," Leo blurts out. "We've heard about others like him."

Thalia looks at him strangely. "What do you mean?"

(Y/n) tells her about the slashed-up purple shirt in Medea's department store, and the story the Cyclopes told about the child of Mercury who spoke Latin.

"Isn't there anywhere else for demigods?" Leo asks. "I mean besides Camp Half-Blood? Maybe some crazy Latin teacher has been abducting children of the gods or something, making them think like Romans."

As soon as he says it, Leo realizes how stupid the idea sounds. Thalia's dazzling blue eyes study him intently, making him feel like a suspect in a lineup. "I've been all over the country," Thalia muses. "I've never seen evidence of a crazy Latin teacher, or demigods in purple shirts. Still . . ." Her voice trailed off, like she'd just had a troubling thought.

"What?" Jason asks.

Thalia shakes her head. "I'll have to talk to the goddess. Maybe Artemis will guide us."

"She's still talking to you?" Jason asks. "Most of the gods have gone silent."

"Artemis follows her own rules," Thalia says. "She has to be careful not to let Zeus know, but she thinks Zeus is being ridiculous closing Olympus. She's the one who set us on the trail of Lycaon. She said we'd find a lead to a missing friend of ours."

"Percy," (Y/n) finishes; Thalia nods, her face full of concern.

Leo wonders if anyone had ever looked that worried all the times he'd disappeared. He kind of doubts it.

"So what would Lycaon have to do with it?" Leo asks. "And how does it connect to us?"

"We need to find out soon," Thalia admits. "If your deadline is tomorrow, we're wasting time. Aeolus could tell you —"

A white wolf appears again at the doorway and yips insistently.

"I have to get moving." Thalia stands. "Otherwise I'll lose the other Hunters' trail. First, though, I'll take you to Aeolus's palace."

"If you can't, it's okay," Jason says, though he sounds kind of distressed.

"Oh, please." Thalia smiles and helps him up. "I haven't had a brother in years. I think I can stand a few minutes with you before you get annoying. Now, let's go!"

When Leo sees how well Piper and Hedge are being treated, he is thoroughly offended. He'd imagined them freezing their hindquarters off in the snow, but the Hunter, Phoebe, had set up this silver pavilion right outside the cave. How she'd done it so fast, Leo has no idea, but inside is a kerosene heater keeping them toasty warm and a bunch of comfy throw pillows. Piper looks back to normal, decked out in a new parka, gloves, and camo pants like a Hunter. She and Hedge and Phoebe are kicking back, drinking hot chocolate, but when Phoebe catches sight of (Y/n), she stands up and comes over to give her a quick hug.

"Jackson," Phoebe says.

"Phoebe," (Y/n) replies, smiling slightly.

"Oh, no way," Leo says. "We've been sitting in a cave and you get the luxury tent? Somebody give me hypothermia. I want hot chocolate and a parka!"

Phoebe sniffs. "Boys," she says, like it's the worst insult she can think of.

"It's all right, Phoebe," Thalia smiles slightly. "They'll need extra coats. And I think we can spare some chocolate."

Phoebe grumbles, but soon Leo, (Y/n), and Jason are also dressed in silvery winter clothes that are incredibly lightweight and warm. The hot chocolate is first-rate.

"Cheers!" says Coach Hedge. He crunches down his plastic thermos cup.

"That cannot be good for your intestines," (Y/n) jokes.

Thalia pats Piper on the back. "You up for moving?"

Piper nods. "Thanks to Phoebe, yeah. You guys are really good at this wilderness survival thing. I feel like I can run ten miles.

Thalia winks at (Y/n). "She's tough for a child of Aphrodite. I like this one."

Piper can see (Y/n)'s cheeks redden, but she can't tell whether she's flustered or just warm.

"Hey, I could run ten miles too," Leo volunteers. "Tough Hephaestus kid here. Let's hit it." Naturally, Thalia ignores him.

It takes Phoebe exactly six seconds to break camp, which Leo cannot believe. The tent self-collapses into a square the size of a pack of chewing gum. Leo wants to ask her for the blueprints, but they don't have time.

Thalia runs uphill through the snow, hugging a tiny little path on the side of the mountain, and soon Leo is regretting trying to look macho, because the Hunters leave him in the dust.

Coach Hedge leaps around like a happy mountain goat, coaxing them on like he used to do on track days at school. "Come on, Valdez! Pick up the pace! Let's chant. I've got a girl in Kalamazoo —"

"Let's not," Thalia snaps.

So they run in silence.

Leo falls in next to Jason at the back of the group. "How you doing, man?"

Jason's expression is enough of an answer: Not good.

"Thalia takes it so calmly," Jason says. "Like it's no big deal that I appeared. I didn't know what I was expecting, but . . . she's not like me. She seems so much more together."

"Hey, she's not fighting amnesia," Leo says. "Plus, she's had more time to get used to this whole demigod thing. You fight monsters and talk to gods for a while, you probably get used to surprises."

"Maybe," Jason says. "I just wish I understood what happened when I was two, why my mom got rid of me. Thalia ran away because of me."

"Hey, whatever's happened, it wasn't your fault. And your sister is pretty cool. She's a lot like you."

Jason takes that in silence. Leo wonders if he'd said the right things. He wants to make Jason feel better, but this is way outside his comfort zone.

Leo wishes he can reach inside his tool belt and pick just the right wrench to fix Jason's memory — maybe a little hammer — bonk the sticking spot and make everything run right. That would be a lot easier than trying to talk it through. Not good with organic life forms. Thanks for those inherited traits, Dad.

He is so lost in thought, he didn't realize the others had stopped. He slams into (Y/n), who slams into Thalia, and nearly sends the three of them down the side of the mountain the hard way. Fortunately, the Hunter is light on her feet. She steadies them, then points up.

"That," Leo chokes, "is a really large rock."

They stand near the summit of Pikes Peak. Below them the world is blanketed in clouds. The air is so thin, Leo can hardly breathe. Night had set in, but a full moon shone and the stars are incredible. Stretching out to the north and south, peaks of other mountains rises from the clouds like islands — or teeth.

But the real show is above them. Hovering in the sky, about a quarter mile away, is a massive free-floating island of glowing purple stone. It is hard to judge in size, but (Y/n) figures it's about half the length of a football stadium, and just as tall. The sides are rugged cliffs, riddled with caves, and every once in a while a gust of wind bursts out with a sound like an organ blast. At the top of the rock, brass walls ring the fortress.

Piper leans over, her mouth next to (Y/n)'s ear, "It's really pretty."

"Just like you," slips out of (Y/n)'s mouth.

Piper pulls away, raising an eyebrow. "That was smooth, Jackson."

(Y/n) flushes, looking at the only thing connecting Pikes Peak to the floating island – a narrow bridge of ice that glistens in the moonlight.

Then (Y/n) realizes the bridge isn't exactly ice, because it isn't solid. As the winds changed direction, the bridge snakes around — blurring and thinning, in some places even breaking into a dotted line like the vapor trail of a plane.

"We're not seriously crossing that," Leo says.

Thalia shrugs. "I'm not a big fan of heights, I'll admit. But if you want to get to Aeolus's fortress, this is the only way."

"Is the fortress always hanging there?" Piper asks. "How can people not notice it sitting on top of Pikes Peak?"

"The Mist," Thalia says. "Still, mortals do notice it indirectly. Some days, Pikes Peak looks purple. People say it's a trick of the light, but actually it's the color of Aeolus's palace, reflecting off the mountain face."

"It's enormous," Jason says.

Thalia laughs. "You should see Olympus, little brother."

"You're serious? You've been there?"

Thalia grimaces, exchanging a look with (Y/n) – as if it isn't a good memory. "We should go across in two different groups. The bridge is fragile."

"That's reassuring," Leo says. "Jason, can't you just fly us up there?"

Thalia laughs. Then she seems to realize Leo's question isn't a joke. "Wait . . . Jason, you can fly?"

Jason gazes up at the floating fortress. "Well, sort of. More like I can control the winds. But the winds up here are so strong, I'm not sure I'd want to try. Thalia you mean . . . you can't fly?

For a second, Thalia looks genuinely afraid. Then she gets her expression under control. Leo realizes she is a lot more scared of heights than she is letting on. "Truthfully," she says, "I've never tried. Might be better if we stuck to the bridge."

Coach Hedge taps the ice vapor trail with his hoof, then jumps onto the bridge. Amazingly, it holds his weight. "Easy! I'll go first. Piper, (Y/n), come on, girls. I'll give you a hand."

"No, that's okay," Piper starts to say, but the coach grabs her's and (Y/n)'s hands and drags them up the bridge.

When they are about halfway, the bridge still seems to be holding them just fine.

Thalia turns to her Hunter friend. "Phoebe, I'll be back soon. Go find the others. Tell them I'm on my way."

"You sure?" Phoebe narrows her eyes at Leo and Jason, like they might kidnap Thalia.

"It's fine," Thalia promises.

Phoebe nods reluctantly, then races down the mountain path, the white wolves at her heels.

"Jason, Leo, just be careful where you step," Thalia says. "It hardly ever breaks."

"It hasn't met me yet," Leo muttered, but he and Jason lead the way up the bridge.

Halfway up, things start going wrong. Piper, (Y/n), and Coach Hedge had already made it safely to the top, and are waving at them, encouraging them to keep climbing, but Leo gets distracted. He is thinking about bridges – how he would design something way more stable than this shifting ice vapor business if this was his palace. He is pondering braces and support columns. Then a sudden revelation stops him in his tracks.

"Why do they have a bridge?" he asks.

Thalia frowns. "Leo, this isn't a good place to stop. What do you mean?"

"They're wind spirits," Leo says. "Can't they fly?"

"Yes, but sometimes they need a way to connect to the world below."

"So the bridge isn't always here?" Leo asks.

Thalia shakes her head. "The wind spirits don't like to anchor to the earth, but sometimes it's necessary. Like now. They know you're coming."

Leo's mind is racing. He is so excited he can almost feel his body's temperature rising. He can't quite put his thoughts into words, but he

knows he's onto something important.

"Leo?" Jason says. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, gods," Thalia says. "Keep moving. Look at your feet."

Leo shuffles backwards. With horror, he realizes his body temperature really is rising, just as it had years ago at that picnic table under the pecan tree, when his anger had gotten away from him. Now, excitement is causing the reaction. His pants steam in the cold air. His shoes are literally smoking, and the bridge doesn't like it. The ice is thinning.

"Leo, stop it," Jason warned. "You're going to melt it."

"I'll try," Leo says. But his body is overheating on its own, running as fast as his thoughts. "Listen, Jason, what did Hera call you in that dream? She called you a bridge."

"Leo, seriously, cool down," Thalia says. "I don't what you're talking about, but the bridge is —''

"Just listen," Leo insists. "If Jason is a bridge, what's he connecting? Maybe two different places that normally don't get along—like the air palace and the ground. You had to be somewhere before this, right? And Hera said you were an exchange."

"An exchange." Thalia's eyes widen. "Oh, gods."

Jason frowns. "What are you two talking about?"

Thalia mutters something like a prayer. "I understand now why Artemis sent me here. Jason—she told me to hunt for Lycaon and I would find a clue about Percy. You are the clue. Artemis wanted us to meet so I could hear your story."

"I don't understand," he protests. "I don't have a story. I don't remember anything."

"But Leo's right," Thalia said. "It's all connected. If we just knew where—"

Leo snaps his fingers. "Jason, what did you call that place in your dream? That ruined house. The Wolf House?"

Thalia nearly chokes. "The Wolf House? Jason, why didn't you tell me that! That's where they're keeping Hera?"

"You know where it is?" Jason asked.

"Something's wrong," (Y/n) realizes, watching as Jason grabs Leo's coat. (Y/n) goes to step back onto the bridge to help, but Piper pulls her back.

"Don't," she says. "You might make it worse."

Then Jason and Leo start scrambling up the bridge. (Y/n) grabs the boys' hands, pulling them onto the floating island. When they turn, they see Thalia backing down the bridge as it crumbles.

"Find out where the giant is keeping Piper's dad! Save him!" she shouts. "I'll take the Hunters to the Wolf House and hold it until you can get there. We can do both!"

"But where is the Wolf House?" Jason shouts.

"You know where it is, little brother!" She is so far away now that they can barely hear her voice over the wind. Leo is pretty sure she says: "I'll see you there. I promise."

Then she turns and races down the dissolving bridge.

Leo looks back down. The top of Pikes Peak floats below them in a sea of clouds, but there is no sign of Thalia. And Leo had just burned their only exit.

"What happened?" Piper demands. "Leo, why are your clothes smoking?"

"I got a little heated," Leo gasps. "Sorry, Jason. Honest. I didn't —''

"It's all right," Jason says, but his expression is grim. "We've got less than twenty-four hours to rescue a goddess and Piper's dad. Let's go see the king of the winds."

. . .

I found my sister and lost her in less than an hour, Jason thinks miserably. As they climb the cliffs of the floating island, he keeps looking back, but Thalia is gone.

Despite what she'd said about meeting again, Jason wonders; she's found a new family with the Hunters, and a new mother in Artemis. She had seemed so confident and comfortable with her life, Jason isn't sure if he'd ever be a part of it. And she'd seemed so happy when she'd found (Y/n), and so set on finding Percy. Did she ever search for me like that?

Not fair, Jason retorts. She thought you were dead.

He could also barely tolerate what Thalia had said about their mom. It was like she'd handed him a baby – a really loud, ugly baby – and said, Here, this is yours. Carry it. He doesn't want to carry it. He doesn't want to look at it or claim it. He hadn't wanted to know she had an unstable mother who'd gotten rid of him to appease a goddess. No wonder Thalia ran away.

And then he remembers the Zeus cabin at camp – the tiny little alcove Thalia had used as a bunk, out of sight from the glowering statue of the sky god. Dad isn't much of a bargain either, Jason thinks, understanding why Thalia had renounced that part of her life, though he's still resentful. I can't be so lucky. I get stuck holding the bag – literally.

The golden backpack of winds is strapped over his shoulders, and the closer they get to Aeolus's palace, the heavier they get. The winds keep struggling, rumbling and bumping around.

The only one who seems to be in a good mood is Coach Hedge. He keeps bouncing up the slippery staircase and trotting back down. "Come on, cupcakes! Only a few thousand steps."

As they climb, Leo, (Y/n), and Piper leave Jason in his silence. Maybe they can sense my bad mood. Piper keeps glancing back, worried, as if he were the one who'd almost died of hypothermia rather than she. Or maybe she is thinking about Thalia's idea. Jason doens't really understand how they were going to save Piper's dad and Hera, and he isn't sure if the possibility had made Piper more hopeful or just more anxious.

Leo keeps swatting his own legs, checking for signs that his pants are on fire. He wasn't steaming anymore, but the incident on the ice bridge had really freaked Jason out. Leo hadn't seemed to realize that he had smoke coming out his ears and flames dancing through his hair. If Leo started spontaneously combusting every time he got excited, they were going to have a tough time taking him anywhere. Jason imagines trying to get food at a restaurant. I'll have a cheeseburger and—Ahhh! My friend's on fire! Get me a bucket!

Mostly, though, Jason worries about what Leo had said. Jason doesn't want to be a bridge, or an exchange, or anything else. He just wants to know where he'd come from. And Thalia had looked so unnerved when Leo mentioned the burned-out house in his dreams — the place the wolf Lupa had told him was his starting point. How did Thalia know that place, and why did she assume I could find it?

The answer seems close. But the nearer Jason gets to it, the less it cooperated, like the winds on his back.

Jason keeps catching (Y/n) glancing back at him, as though trying to find something to say.

They arrive at the top of the island. Bronze walls march all the way around the fortress grounds, though Jason can't imagine who would possibly attack this place. Twenty-foot-high gates open for them, and a road of polished purple stone leads up to the main citadel — a white-columned rotunda, Greek style, like one of the monuments in Washington, D.C. — except for the cluster of satellite dishes and radio towers on the roof.

"That's bizarre," Piper mutters.

"Guess you can't get cable on a floating island," Leo says. "Dang, check this guy's front yard."

The rotunda sits in the center of a quarter-mile circle. The grounds are amazing in a scary way. They are divided into four sections like big pizza slices, each one representing a season.

The section on their right is an icy waste, with bare trees and a frozen lake. Snowmen roll across the landscape as the wind blows, so Jason isn't sure if they were decorations or alive.

To their left is an autumn park with gold and red trees. Mounds of leaves blew into patterns — gods, people, animals that run after each other before scattering back into leaves.

In the distance, Jason can see two more areas behind the rotunda. One looks like a green pasture with sheep made out of clouds. The last section is a desert where tumbleweeds scratch strange patterns in the sand like Greek letters, smiley faces, and a huge advertisement that read: watch aeolus nightly!

"One section for each of the four wind gods," Jason guesses. "Four cardinal directions."

I'm loving that pasture." Coach licks licked his lips. "You guys mind —"

"Go ahead," Jason says. He is actually relieved to send the satyr off. It would be hard enough getting on Aeolus's good side without Coach Hedge waving his club and screaming, "Die!"

While the satyr runs off to attack springtime, Jason, Leo, (Y/n), and Piper walk down the road to the steps of the palace. They pass through the front doors into a white marble foyer decorated with purple banners that read olympian weather channel, and some that just read ow!

"Hello!" A woman floats up to them. Literally floated. She is pretty in that elfish way Jason associates with nature spirits at Camp Half-Blood — petite, slightly pointy ears, and an ageless face that could've been sixteen or thirty. Her brown eyes twinkle cheerfully. Even though there is no wind, her dark hair blows in slow motion, shampoo-commercial style. Her white gown billows around her like parachute material. Jason can't tell if she has feet, but if so, they don't touch the floor. She has a white tablet computer in her hand. "Are you from Lord Zeus?" she asks. "We've been expecting you."

Jason tries to respond, but it is a little hard to think straight, because he'd realizes the woman was see-through. Her shape fades in and out like she is made of fog. "Are you a ghost?" he asks.

Right away he knows he'd insulted her. The smile turns into a pout. "I'm an aura, sir. A wind nymph, as you might expect, working for the lord of the winds. My name is Mellie. We don't have ghosts."

Piper comes to the rescue. "No, of course you don't! My friend simply mistook you for Helen of Troy, the most beautiful mortal of all time. It's an easy mistake."

Wow, she's good, (Y/n) thinks.

The complement seems a little over top, but Mellie blushes. "Oh . . . well, then. So you are from Zeus?"

"Er," Jason starts. "I'm the son of Zeus, yeah."

"Excellent! Please, right this way," she leads them through some security doors into another lobby, consulting her tablet as she floats. She doesn't look where she is going, but apparently it doesn't matter as she drifts straight through a marble column with no problem. "We're out of prime time now, so that's good," she muses. "I can fit you in right before his 11:12 spot."

"Urn, okay," Jason says.

The lobby is a pretty distracting place. Winds blast around them, so Jason feels like he is pushing through an invisible crowd. Doors blow open and slam by themselves.

The things Jason can see are just as bizarre. Paper airplanes of all different sizes and shapes speed around, and other wind nymphs, aurai, would occasionally pluck them out of the air, unfold and read them, then toss them back into the air, where the planes would refold themselves and keep flying.

A creature flutters past. She looks like a mix between an old lady and a chicken on steroids. She has a wrinkled face with black hair tied in a hairnet, arms like a human plus wings like a chicken, and a fat, feathered body with talons for feet. It's amazing she could fly at all. She keeps drifting around and bumping into things like a parade balloon.

"Not an aura?" Jason asks Mellie as the creature wobbles by.

Mellie laughs. "That's a harpy, of course. Our, ah, ugly stepsisters, I suppose you would say. Don't you have harpies on Olympus? They're spirits of violent gusts, unlike us aurai. We're all gentle breezes." She bats her eyes at Jason.

"'Course you are," he replies.

"So," Piper prompts, "you were taking us to see Aeolus?"

Mellie leads them through a set of doors like an airlock. Above the interior door, a green light blinks.

"We have a few minutes before he starts," Mellie says cheerfully. "He probably won't kill you if we go in now. Come along!"

. . .

(Y/n)'s jaw drops. The central section of Aelous's fortress is as big as a cathedral, with a soaring domed roof covered in silver. Television equipment floats randomly through the air – camera, spotlights, set pieces, potted plants. And there's no floor. Leo almost falls into the chasm before Jason pulls him back."

"Holy —!" Leo gulps. "Hey, Mellie. A little warning next time!"

An enormous circular pit plunges into the heart of the mountain. It is probably half a mile deep, honeycombed with caves. Some of the tunnels probably led straight outside. (Y/n) remembers seeing winds blast out of them when they'd been on Pikes Peak. Other caves is sealed with some glistening material like glass or wax. The whole cavern bustles with harpies, aurai, and paper airplanes, but for someone who couldn't fly, it would be a very long, very fatal fall.

"Oh, my," Mellie gasps. "I'm so sorry." She unclips a walkie-talkie from somewhere inside her robes and speaks into it: "Hello, sets? Is that Nuggets? Hi, Nuggets. Could we get a floor in the main studio, please? Yes, a solid one. Thanks."

A few seconds later, an army of harpies rises from the pit — three dozen or so demon chicken ladies, all carrying squares of various building material. They go to work hammering and gluing – and using large quantities of duct tape, which doesn't reassure (Y/n). In no time there is a makeshift floor snaking out over the chasm. It was is of plywood, marble blocks, carpet squares, wedges of grass sod — just about anything.

"That can't be safe," Jason comments.

"Oh, it is!" Mellie assures him. "The harpies are very good."

Easy for her to say. She just drifts across without touching the floor, but Jason decides he has the best chance at surviving, since he can fly, so he steps out first. Amazingly, the floor holds.

Piper follows, then (Y/n), and then Leo.

Mellie leads them towards the middle of the chamber, where a loose sphere of flat-panel video screens floats around a kind of control center. A man hovers inside, checking monitors and reading paper airplane messages.

The man pays them no attention as Mellie brings them forward. She pushes a forty-two-inch Sony out of their way and leads them into the control area.

Leo whistles. "I got to get a room like this."

The floating screens show all sorts of television programs. Some Jason recognizes — news broadcasts, mostly — but some programs look a little strange: gladiators fighting, demigods battling monsters. Maybe they're movies, but they look more like reality shows.

At the far end of the sphere is a silky blue backdrop like a cinema screen, with cameras and studio lights floating around it.

The man in the center is talking into an earpiece phone. He has a remote control in each hand and is pointing them at various screens, seemingly at random.

He is wearing a business suit that looks like the sky — blue mostly, but dappled with clouds that change, darken, and move across the fabric. He looks like he's in his sixties, with a shock of white hair, but he has a ton of stage makeup on, and that smooth plastic-surgery look to his face, so he appears not really young, not really old, just wrong — like a Ken doll someone had halfway melted in a microwave. His eyes dart back and forth from screen to screen, like he's trying to absorb everything at once. He mutts things into his phone, and his mouth keeps twitching. He is either amused, or crazy, or both.

Mellie floats towards him. "Ah, sir, Mr. Aeolus, these demigods —"

"Hold it!" He holds up a hand to silence her, then points at one of the screens. "Watch!"

It's one of those storm-chaser programs, where insane thrill-seekers drive after tornados. As Jason watches, a Jeep plows straight into a funnel cloud and gets tossed into the sky.

Aeolus shrieks with delight. "The Disaster Channel. People do that on purpose !" He turned toward Jason with a mad grin. "Isn't that amazing? Let's watch it again."

"Urn, sir," Mellie says, "this is Jason, son of—"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Aeolus interupts. "You're back. How did it go?"

Jason hesitates. "Sorry? I think you've mistaken me —"

"No, no, Jason Grace, aren't you? It was — what — last year? You were on your way to fight a sea monster, I believe."

"I — I don't remember."

Aelous laughs. "Must not have been a very good sea monster! No, I remember every hero who's ever come to me for aid. Odysseus — gods, he docked at my island for a month! At least you only stayed a few days. Now, watch this video. These ducks get sucked straight into —"

"Sir," Mellie interrupts. "Two minutes to air."

"Air!" Aeolus exclaims. "I love air. How do I look? Makeup!"

Immediately a small tornado of brushes, blotters, and cotton balls descend on Aeolus. They blur across his face in a cloud of flesh-tone smoke until his coloration is even more gruesome than before. Wind swirl through his hair and left it sticking up like a frosted Christmas tree.

"Mr. Aeolus." Jason slips off the golden backpack. "We brought you these rogue storm spirits."

"Did you!" Aeolus looks at the bag like it's a gift from a fan — something he really doesn't want. "Well, how nice."

Leo nudges him, and Jason offers the bag. "Boreas sent us to capture them for you. We hope you'll accept them and stop — you know — ordering demigods to be killed."

Aeolus laughs, and looks incredulously at Mellie. "Demigods be killed — did I order that?"

Mellie checks her computer tablet. "Yes, sir, fifteenth of September. 'Storm spirits released by the death of Typhon, demigods to be held responsible,' etc . . . yes, a general order for them all to be killed."

"Oh, pish," Aeolus says. "I was just grumpy. Rescind that order, Mellie, and urn, who's on guard duty — Teriyaki? — Teri, take these storm spirits down to cell block Fourteen E, will you?"

A harpy swoops out of nowhere, snatches the golden bag, and spirals into the abyss.

Aeolus grins at Jason. "Now, sorry about that kill-on-sight business. But gods, I really was mad, wasn't I?" His face suddenly darkens, and his suit does the same, the lapels flashing with lightning. "You know . . . I remember now. Almost seemed like a voice was telling me to give that order. A little cold tingle on the back of my neck."

Jason tenses. A cold tingle on the back of his neck . . . Why does that sound so familiar? "A . . . um, voice in your head, sir?"

"Yes. How odd. Mellie, should we kill them?"

"No, sir," she says patiently. "They just brought us the storm spirits, which makes everything all right."

"Of course." Aeolus laughs. "Sorry. Mellie, let's send the demigods something nice. A box of chocolates, perhaps."

"A box of chocolates to every demigod in the world, sir?"

"No, too expensive. Never mind. Wait, it's time! I'm on!"

Aeolus flies off towards the blue screen as newscast music starts to play.

Jason looks at Piper, (Y/n), and Leo, who seem just as confused as he is.

"Mellie," he says , "is he . . . always like that?"

She smiles sheepishly. "Well, you know what they say. If you don't like his mood, wait five minutes. That expression 'whichever way the wind blows' — that was based on him."

"And that thing about the sea monster," Jason says. "Was I here before?"

Mellie blushes. "I'm sorry, I don't remember. I'm Mr. Aeolus's new assistant. I've been with him longer than most, but still — not that long."

"How long do his assistants usually last?" Piper asks curiously.

"Oh . . ." Mellie thinks for a moment. "I've been doing this for . . . twelve hours?"

A voice blares from floating speakers: "And now, weather every twelve minutes! Here's your forecaster for Olympian Weather — the OW! channel — Aeolus!"

Lights blaze on Aeolus, who is now standing in front of the blue screen. His smile is unnaturally white, and he looks like he'd had so much caffeine his face is about to explode.

"Hello, Olympus! Aeolus, master of the winds here, with weather every twelve! We'll have a low-pressure system moving over Florida today so expect milder temperatures since Demeter wishes to spare the citrus farmers!" He gestures at the blue screen, but when (Y/n0 checks the monitors, she sees that a digital image is being projected behind Aeolus, so it looks like he's standing in front of a U.S. map with animated smiley suns and frowny storm clouds. "Along the eastern seaboard — oh, hold on." He taps his earpiece. "Sorry, folks! Poseidon is angry with Miami today so it looks like that Florida freeze is back on! Sorry, Demeter. Over in the Midwest, I'm not sure what St. Louis did to offend Zeus, but you can expect winter storms! Boreas himself is being called down to punish the area with ice. Bad news, Missouri! No, wait. Hephaestus feels sorry for central Missouri, so you all will have much more moderate temperatures and sunny skies."

Aeolus keeps going like that — forecasting each area of the country and changing his prediction two or three times as he gets messages over his earpiece — the gods apparently putting in orders for various winds and weather.

"This can't be right," Jason whispers. "Weather isn't this random."

Mellie smirks. "And how often are the mortal weathermen right? They talk about fronts and air pressure and moisture, but the weather surprises them all the time. At least Aeolus tells us why it's so unpredictable. Very hard job, trying to appease all the gods at once. It's enough to drive anyone . . ."

She trails off, but Jason knows what she meant. Mad. Aeolus is completely mad.

"And that's the weather," Aeolus concludes. "See you in twelve minutes, because I'm sure it'll change!"

The lights shut off, the video monitors go back to random coverage, and just for a moment, Aeolus's face sags with weariness. Then he seems to remember he has guests, and he puts a smile back on.

"So, you brought me some rogue storm spirits," Aeolus says. "I suppose . . . thanks! And did you want something else? I assume so. Demigods always do."

Mellie says, "Urn, sir, this is Zeus's son."

"Yes, yes. I know that. I said I remembered him from before."

"But, sir, they're here from Olympus."

Aeolus looks stunned. Then he laughs so abruptly, Jason almost jumps into the chasm. "You mean you're here on behalf of your father this time? Finally! I knew they would send someone to renegotiate my contract!"

"Urn, what?" Jason asks.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Aeolus sighs with relief. "It's been what, three thousand years since Zeus made me master of the winds. Not that I'm ungrateful, of course! But really, my contract is so vague. Obviously I'm immortal, but 'master of the winds.' What does that mean? Am I a nature spirit? A demigod? A god? I want to be god of the winds, because the benefits are so much better. Can we start with that?"

Jason looks at his friends, mystified.

"Dude," Leo says, "you think we're here to promote you?"

"You are, then?" Aeolus grins. His business suit turns completely blue — not a cloud in the fabric. "Marvelous! I mean, I think I've shown quite a bit of initiative with the weather channel, eh? And of course I'm in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me: Into Thin Air, Up in the Air, Gone with the Wind —"

"Er, I don't think those are about you," Jason says, before he notices Mellie shaking her head.

"Nonsense," Aeolus says. "Mellie, they're biographies of me, aren't they?"

"Absolutely, sir," she squeaks.

"There, you see? I don't read. Who has time? But obviously the mortals love me. So, we'll change my official title to god of the winds. Then, about salary and staff —"

"Sir," Jason says, "we're not from Olympus."

Aeolus blinks. "But —"

"I'm the son of Zeus, yes," Jason says, "but we're not here to negotiate your contract. We're on a quest and we need your help."

Aeolus's expression hardens. "Like last time? Like every hero who comes here? Demigods! It's always about you, isn't it?"

"Sir, please, I don't remember last time, but if you helped me once before —"

"I'm always helping! Well, sometimes I'm destroying, but mostly I'm helping, and sometimes I'm asked to do both at the same time! Why Aeneas, the first of your kind —"

"My kind?" Jason asks. "You mean, demigods?"

"Oh, please!" Aeolus says. "I mean your line of demigods. You know, Aeneas, son of Venus — the only surviving hero of Troy. When the Greeks burned down his city, he escaped to Italy, where he founded the kingdom that would eventually become Rome, blah, blah, blah. That's what I meant."

"I don't get it," Jason admits.

Aeolus rolls his eyes. "The point being, I was thrown in the middle of that conflict, too! Juno calls up: 'Oh, Aeolus, destroy Aeneas's ships for me. I don't like him.' Then Neptune says, 'No, you don't! That's my territory. Calm the winds.' Then Juno is like, 'No, wreck his ships, or I'll tell Jupiter you're uncooperative!' Do you think it's easy juggling requests like that?"

"No," Jason said. "I guess not."

"And don't get me started on Amelia Earhart! I'm still getting angry calls from Olympus about knocking her out of the sky!"

"We just want information," Piper says in her most calming voice. "We hear you know everything."

Aeolus straightens his lapels and looks slightly mollified. "Well . . . that's true, of course. For instance, I know that this business here" — he waggles his fingers at the four of them — "this harebrained scheme of Juno's to bring you all together is likely to end in bloodshed. As for you, Piper McLean, I know your father is in serious trouble." He holds out his hand, and a scrap of paper flutters into his grasp. It's a photo of Piper with a guy who must've been her dad. His face does look familiar. Jason is pretty sure he'd seen him in some movies.

Piper takes the photo. Her hands are shaking. "This — this is from his wallet."

"Yes ," Aeolus says. "All things lost in the wind eventually come to me. The photo blew away when the Earthborn captured him."

"The what?" Piper asks.

Aeolus waves aside the question and narrows his eyes at Leo. "Now, you, son of Hephaestus . . . Yes, I see your future." Another paper falls into the wind god's hands — an old tattered drawing done in crayons.

Leo takes it as if it might be coated in poison. He staggers backwards.

"Leo?" Jason says. "What is it?"

"Something I — I drew when I was a kid." He folds it quickly and put it in his coat. "It's . . . yeah, it's nothing."

Aeolus laughs. "Really? Just the key to your success!" Aeolus then looks at (Y/n). He waves his hand, and a photograph flies down, falling into the daughter of Poseidon's hands.

(Y/n) chokes back a sob as she studies the photo. It was a picture of herself, Percy, and their parents, Sally and Paul, and Percy's arm is wrapped around Annabeth's waist – and everyone looked happy.

(Y/n) clears her throat, and shoves the picture into her pocket, she aggressively wipes at her eyes and Leo, Jason, and Piper avoid her gaze.

Aeolus shrugs it aside, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, you wanted information. Are you sure about that? Sometimes information can be dangerous." He smiles at Jason like he's issuing a challenge. Behind him, Mellie shakes her head in warning.

"Yeah," Jason says. "We need to find the lair of Enceladus."

Aeolus's smile melts, "The giant? Why would you want to go there? He's horrible! He doesn't even watch my program!"

Piper holds up the photo. "Aeolus, he's got my father. We need to rescue him and find out where Hera is being held captive."

"Now, that's impossible," Aeolus says. "Even I can't see that, and believe me, I've tried. There's a veil of magic over Hera's location—very strong, impossible to locate."

"She's at a place called the Wolf House," Jason says.

"Hold on!" Aelous puts a hand to his forehead and closes his eyes. "I'm getting something! Yes, she's at a place called the Wolf House! Sadly, I don't know where that is."

"Enceladus does," Piper persists. "If you help us find him, we could get the location of the goddess —"

"Yeah," Leo adds, catching on. "And if we save her, she'd be really grateful to you —"

"And Zeus might promote you," (Y/n) finishes.

Aeolus's eyebrows creep up. "A promotion — and all you want from me is the giant's location?"

"Well, if you could get us there, too," Jason amends, "that would be great."

Mellie claps her hands in excitement. "Oh, he could do that! He often sends helpful winds —"

Mellie, quiet!" Aeolus snaps. "I have half a mind to fire you for letting these people in under false pretenses."

Her face pales. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"It wasn't her fault," Jason says, "But about that help . . ."

Aelous tilted his head as if thinking. Then Jason realized the wind lord was listening to voices in his earpiece.

"Well . . . Zeus approves," Aeolus mutters. "He says . . . he says it would be better if you could avoid saving her until after the weekend, because he has a big party planned — Ow! That's Aphrodite yelling at him, reminding him that the solstice starts at dawn. She says I should help you. And Hephaestus . . . yes. Hmm. Very rare they agree on anything. Poseidon agrees . . . Hold on . . ."

Jason smiled at his friends. Finally, they were having some good luck. Their godly parents were standing up for them.

Back towards the entrance, Jason hears a loud belch. Coach Hedge waddles in from the lobby, grass all over his face. Mellie sees him coming across the makeshift floor and catches her breath. "Who is that?"

Jason stifles a cough. "That? That's just Coach Hedge. Uh, Gleeson Hedge. He's our . . ." Jason wasn't sure what to call him: teacher, friend, problem? "Our guide."

"He's so goatly," Mellie murmurs.

Behind her, Piper poofs out her cheeks, pretending to vomit.

"What's up, guys?" Hedge trots over. "Wow, nice place. Oh! Sod squares."

"Coach, you just ate," Jason says. "And we're using the sod as a floor. This is, ah, Mellie —"

"An aura." Hedge smiles winningly. "Beautiful as a summer breeze."

Mellie blushes.

"And Aeolus here was just about to help us," Jason explains.

"Yes," the wind lord mutters. "It seems so. You'll find Enceladus on Mount Diablo."

"Devil Mountain?" Leo questions. "That doesn't sound good."

"I remember that place!" Piper says. "I went there once with my dad. It's just east of San Francisco Bay."

The Bay Area again?" The coach shakes his head. "Not good. Not good at all."

"Now . . .''Aeolus began to smile. "As to getting you there —"

Suddenly his face goes slack. He bends over and taps his earpiece as if it were malfunctioning. When he straightened again, his eyes are wild. Despite the makeup, he looks like an old man — an old, very frightened man. "She hasn't spoke to me for centuries. I can't — yes, yes I understand."

He swallows, regarding Jason as if he had suddenly turned into a giant cockroach. "I'm sorry, son of Jupiter. New orders. You all have to die."

Mellie squeaks. "But — but, sir! Zeus said to help them. Poseidon, Aphrodite, Hephaestus —"

"Mellie!" Aeolus snaps. "Your job is already on the line. Besides, there are some orders that transcend even the wishes of the gods, especially when it comes to the forces of nature."

"Whose orders?" Jason says. "Zeus will fire you if you don't help us!"

"I doubt it." Aeolus flicks his wrist, and far below them, a cell door opens in the pit. Jason could hear storm spirits screaming out of it, spiraling up towards them, howling for blood.

"Even Zeus understands the order of things," Aeolus said. "And if she is waking — by all the gods — she cannot be denied. Good-bye, heroes. I'm terribly sorry, but I'll have to make this quick. I'm back on the air in four minutes."

Jason summons his sword. Coach Hedge pulls out his club. Mellie the aura screams, "No!"

She dives at their feet just as the storm spirits hit with hurricane force, blasting the floor to pieces, shredding the carpet samples and marble and linoleum into what should've been lethal projectiles, had Mellie's robes not spread out like a shield and absorbed the brunt of the impact. The six of them fall into the pit, and Aeolus screams above them, "Mellie, you are so fired!"

"Quick," Mellie yells. "Son of Zeus, do you have any power over the air?"

"A little!"

"Then help me, or you're all dead!" Mellie grabs his hand, and an electric charge goes through Jason's arm. He understands what she needs. They have to control their fall and head for one of the open tunnels. The storm spirits are following them down, closing rapidly, bringing with them a cloud of deadly shrapnel.

(Y/n) grabs Piper's hand. "Group hug!"

Hedge, Leo, (Y/n), and Piper tried to huddle together, hanging onto Jason and Mellie as they fall.

"This is NOT GOOD!" Leo yells.

"Bring it on, gas bags!" Hedge screams up at the storm spirits. "I'll pulverize you!"

"He's magnificent," Mellie sighs.

"Concentrate?" Jason prompts.

"Right!" she says.

They channel the wind so their fall becomes more of a tumble into the nearest open chute. Still, they slam into the tunnel at painful speed and go rolling over each other down a steep vent that is not designed for people. There's no way they can stop.

Mellie's robes billow around her. Jason and the others cling to her desperately, and they begin to slow down, but the storm spirits are screaming into the tunnel behind them.

"Can't — hold — long," Mellie warns. "Stay together! When the winds hit —"

"You're doing great, Mellie," Hedge says. "My own mama was an aura, you know. She couldn't have done better herself."

"Iris-message me?" Mellie pleads.

Hedge winks.

"Could you guys plan your date later?" Piper screams. "Look!"

Behind them, the tunnel is turning dark. Jason can feel his ears pop as the pressure builds.

"Can't hold them," Mellie warns. "But I'll try to shield you, do you one more favor."

"Thanks, Mellie," Jason says. "I hope you get a new job."

The aurai smiles, and then dissolves, wrapping them in a warm, gentle breeze. Then the real winds hit, shooting them into the sky so fast, Jason blacks out.

Word Count: 12090 words

#piper mclean x reader #piper mclean x fem reader #piper mclean x female reader #the lost hero #the son of neptune #the heroes of olympus #the blood of olympus #the house of hades #the mark of athena #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase x sister reader #percy jackson x sister reader

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happyk44 · 8 months

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Imagining the New Rome army storming Mount Othrys. They defeat all the monsters before they advance to the throne room where Krios awaits. Some of them have been left behind due to injuries that the medics are fixing so the advancing team is smaller than they want.

Up until this point Jason has always seemed so normal. They think it's funny given how long he spent with the wolves compared to the rest of them - that he's no different, no stranger than they are. He's so prim and proper and rigid. He's ultimately kind, he rarely denies helping people if asked, but he always has tension in his shoulders. It's been there since he arrived, and has never disappeared once.

Thinking about the team sending out a couple people to check. When they come back, they inform the rest of the army about Krios waiting for them. They have to strategize fast. Reyna and other leaders bite out quick orders, sectioning the people they have left into various attack units so they can eliminate Krios fast. But one group doesn't know their orders. Jason hasn't delivered them yet.

They look around. Jason hasn't gone anywhere. He stands before them, stripping himself of his armour, of his weapons. And he's gone before they can stop him, charging forward and into the throne room.

Orders are delivered swiftly and then they're off after him. But they fall short at the scene before them.

Jason is aburst with blue-white lightning. The tendrils glitch and snap off him. Krios is pouring blood from a dozen wounds. He stands twenty-feet tall, maybe larger, but is stumbling around. His helmet has been blown open. One half of his face has been burned and hacked to bloody mangled pieces. His horns have been shattered, pieces scattered across the floor that he trips and fumbles over.

His twin swords slash desperately through rhe air as Jason is an unstoppable force of energy. He's using techniques the army has never seen from him before - even Reyna. He's snarling, growling, like a dog. He bites and claws and wraps Krios' throat tight with lightning whips that has the Titan roaring in pain.

He uses his leverage on the Titan's neck to knock him down, flat to his stomach. He catches himself on the top of an obsidian throne.

Then leaps through the air.

A lightning bolt shatters the roof as it lands in Jason's hand. He grips it tight and lands on Krios with a thunderous shout, driving the bolt deep into the Titan's battered form. The scream Krios gives still haunts some soldiers.

The laugh that snarls from Jason's throat still haunts all of them.

He hacks and slashes like a man determined, giving up on his lightning to instead rip apart the Titan with his bare hands, like a wolf. Blood has so thoroughly drenched him, he's unrecognizable by the time he calms. He stands languidly and loose.

The tension that has held him tight all these years has vanished.

He turns and blasts the throne into pieces. There is no maniacal victory in his eyes, in his stance. He doesn't smile, doesn't seem overjoyed by what he's done. But he's thoroughly at ease. Content. Calm.

The pieces of Krios dissolve away - not like monster dust, but into golden-black glistening ooze, sinking through the throne room floor, dragged back to Tartarus where they belong. Jason watches until every bit is gone. Then turns to the army that stands horrified in the open door way.

"Is everyone okay?" he calls out.

There's a persistent silence. Then Dakota chokes out, "Yeah, man, we're all good."

Now Jason smiles. "Great!" A burst of static crackles over his arms. His smile softens. "I'm glad."

The ones left behind may not have believed the other's tale of Jason's single-handed battle had he not emerged still drenched in blood. He stands beneath a summoned raincloud and lets it wash him clean of his conquest. There are a few wounds on his end, but they are small and shallow and healing fast.

A field medic daughter of Febris approaches him, baffled and awed by how swift his wounds heal without assistance. Jason has always healed fast, but this is pushing it. He doesn't even look tired, or mildly winded.

When she ghosts her fingertips over the last wound, barely a scratch now on his upper shoulder, she feels a strange bustle of air around it. Like a battery, she thinks. He can't grow tired, can't bleed, when the source of all his energy swirls around him. The more he generates around him, the more he recharges.

It's amazing.

It's terrifying.

"What were you thinking?" Reyna asks the next night, when the celebrations are still going, and energy remains high.

They're both tucked away in the high branches of a tree. Jason is staring ahead, watching the festivities. But Reyna cannot tear her gaze from his face.

He slides a hand across his thigh and shrugs. "I was thinking it wasn't fair that we had to do this again. Monsters are one thing, they're supposed to come back. But Titans - they're supposed to stay where they are. It wasn't right that he came back from Tartarus. So I had to put him back in the ground like my father did."

He tilts his face up to the sky. A gentle breeze sweeps against them both.

"That was the just thing to do," Jason says, and Reyna thinks of him covered in blood, tearing at a corpse like a rabid animal and wonders just how much of it was truly justice personified and how much of it was hidden ferality finally finding a reason to expose its sharp teeth.

#jason grace #wolf!jason #happy talks pjo

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kendallville · 1 year

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Meaning of names in Succession

Connor - derived from Irish Conchobar: cú - meaning "hound, dog, wolf" and cobar - "desiring".

The eldest son, lonely wolf, longing for love and appreciation. The (perceived) lack of love from his family and Willa pushed him so far that he doesn't even see that running for president is insane. He's happy that there are Conheads, that he's part of the conversation. And (of course) the dog motif - kicked dog that knows to keep the safe distance, but he's still coming back.

Kendall - valley on the river Kent; ruler of the valley. It probably derives from a Celtic words meaning ‘exalted high’ + ‘image effigy’.

Water motif... The rulller of the valley - valley of death? Ken's depression made him believe that the only way out is to die. In death he thought he might take control of his life. Exalted high - first being anointed as a successor, number one, but ending as the effigy (makeshift dummy used for symbolic punishment) - like during the interview in the first episode of season 2 and how he's supposed to be sacrificed at the end of that season. But he still wants to rule, so tries to kill his father and present himself as a warrior of righteousness. Trying to be nobel, telling himself that he's a good guy.

Roman - most likely evolved from Romulus, the legendary co-founder of Rome. Remus and Romulus were the sons of Rhea(sic!), and their father was Mars (God of War). King Amulius ordered that infants be drowned in the Tiber River. They were found and nursed by the female wolf. Brothers first worked together, but in the end Romulus killed his brother.

So, water motif again - two kids left for death in the water, but survived - like surviving abusive childhood. The ruler who killed his brother - Rome tried to work with Ken in the first season, but in the end betrayed him, first declaring his loyalty to Logan at RECNY, then during the vote, or when he ambushed Ken about Vaulter. Someone who survived, and won (he's the one Logan still wants), but for what cost - it tears him apart, the idea of killing his brother again.

Siobhan - means God is gracious, God's grace

Shiv - gracious daughter, favorite child. Knows how to act. Mix her politics views with the meaning of word gracious - "courteous, kind, and pleasant, especially towards someone of lower social status". But she is also Shiv - an improvised dagger that she had to become to survive.

Logan - Irish-Gaelic: clan name, means "little warrior"; Scottish-Gaelic - territorial clan name derived from Lands of Logan, from the Gaelic log/lag meaning "hollow" or "little hollow"

The ruler of the Land, king of the family, the warrior whose whole life is a battle. He also embodies the double meaning of the word "hollow" - there are empty spaces in this empire he built.

#Brainworm #Far fetched #It's just online research don't hold me to it #I will leave it here and go insane #Ideas #hbo succession #logan roy #succession spoilers #shiv roy #roman roy #kendall roy #succession #connor roy #Adding theories for fun

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starlightshadowsworld · 3 months

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Mama's Boy Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

(When Nico thought back on it, the signs were there from the start.)

"Nico" Jason smiled warmly from where he stood. Nico found himself smiling back, tears in his eyes but he refused to let them fall.

This was going to be happy day, damnit.

"Come on, bring it in." Said Nico, opening his arms. Jason blinked in suprise, very well aware of Nico's oversion to touch.

Even knowing he was one of the exceptions to that, Jason was hesitant.

Nico raised an eyebrow "my arms are getting tired." He said, waving his arms to emphasise his point. That it was okay for Jason to hug him, and to get on with it already.

Jason snorts.

His hesitation fading as he floats over to hug his friend. Seeing him up close made it all the more clear Jason was not the same. He looked like someone had turned his saturation levels all the way down.

But most disturbing was that his Camp Jupiter shirt. It was tattered with a blood splatter across his chest.

They had changed Jason's attire for the funeral but it seems that didn't translate to his ghost form.

Nico subconsciously held him tighter. Thanking his father that the spear hadn't shown up along with it. If Jason notices Nico's saddness at his appearance, he doesn't mention it.

"Are you... Barefoot?" Asks Nico, looking down amused. Jason nodded happily. "Yeah, it's nice of the fates to not trap me in shoes for the rest of time." He wiggled his toes with a grin.

Nico snorts.

Even in death trust Jason to look on the bright side. "I didn't realise you had such a vendetta against shoes." Jason nodded seriously. "oh I do, the centurions used to bribe me to keep em on. Wolf brain and all."

Nico chuckles, imagining young Jason Grace growling and tearing off his shoes. "Reyna must've loved telling you that." He teased.

(Nico will think over that moment over and over. How did he not notice Jason avoiding that statement?

It was obvious that this wasn't a story he was told, but one he remembered.)

"... How is Reyna? Is she okay after I... " Jason trials off, a lot quieter than he had been prior. Nico sighed, they'd been avoiding the topic of his death. But they couldn't avoid it forever.

He sits sits down, gesturing for Jason to join him.

"She left with the Hunters and Thalia, after your funeral." He wondered if Jason would take the news badly. And was relieved when Jason's shock turned into a smile.

"Good" he said as his eyes grew teary. Nico put an arm around him, pulling Jason into another hug.

"She always wanted to leave. I'm glad nothings holding her back anymore." Nico frowned, moving so he was looking Jason in the eye.

"I highly doubt she thought you were holding her back." He said, firmly.

"Thanks Nico but... in many ways I did and many ways I didn't. Reyna always wanted something more for her life, as great of a Praetor as she was. I'm glad she got that." Explained Jason, it was bittersweet to know his old friend found her place without him.

But she would thrive, she always would.

"I bet her and Thalia get along." He asked with a grin, which Nico returned. "Like a house on fire."

He told him all about how those two had met, how they matched each other's energy and terrified anyone that came near them.

Jason listened, laughing wiping the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

(But ghosts can't cry...)

Nico would catch him up on everyone else's journeys, how their paths had diverged but stayed together somehow.

How Percy and Annabeth were heading to New Rome. How Leo and Piper were heading back to school. How Hazel and Frank were holding down the fort at Camp Jupiter.

He saved Caligula for another day, not wanting to damper Jason's mood.

And with false reluctance, told Jason about how he and Will were getting on. Jason smiled softly and kept interrupting him by going "awwww" really loud and obnoxiously.

It was great.

But looking back, Nico couldn't help but think about all the details he missed. He prided himself on being observant, on knowing things.

But seeing his best friend again had made him miss how many things didn't add up.

And this was just the beginning.

#mama's boy #Fanfic #jason grace #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #the burning maze spoilers #Platonic Jasico #nico di angelo #long post

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8iunie · 1 year

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Måneskin and Alessandro Michele, an exclusive and open interview (21.11.2022)

The Italian band and Gucci's Creative Director talk about the many things they have in common. While writer Chiara Tagliaferri listen…

Every time they meet, the first thing Alessandro Michele asks the members of Måneskin is always the same: “Are you tired?” In this small, caring gesture lies all the tenderness that flows between them, these people who follow each other around the world, one of them designing outfits for the bodies of the others which then blaze on stage, setting everything alight.

They have one thing in common: Creation is for them an act of rebellion. If we wanted to go back to the moment where the fuse first triggered the explosion, we would find ourselves in Rome, a city that produces wonder and glimmers of redemption in the midst of its chaos.

Alessandro: I don't want to make it a question of geography, but of energy and trajectories. [Rome] is a sort of no man’s land where dreams intersect with possibilities, creating a place of freedom. In Rome things happen because theyhad to happen—it’s nothing to do with money or business. It’s a city teeming with activity, a she-wolf with multiple teats that comes bearing strange opportunities [referring to Rome’s creation myth and the she-wolf that nursed Romulus and Remus]. We come from a city that was pagan before it became Christian, and I feel pagan. We [Romans] have a relationship with the flow of life that’s very intimate, pornographic. We are set alight in the moment when everything happens. Here, creativity is born and it proliferates in a deeply human dimension.

Damiano: Rome also helps keep your feet on the ground: it doesn't matter where you have to go, it could take half an hour or a couple of hours—the Raccordo Anulare [Rome’s ring road] doesn't give a shit whether you’re in a Ferrari or a Panda. Compared to Rome, you’ll never count for anything; you’re a spectator living in the city. I see this with Giorgia, my girlfriend, who moved from Milan and doesn't understand. I always tell her: “You have to stop trying to control things and abandon your body to the river of Rome, go with the flow.” For the bartender below my apartment, I’m just the lad from the top floor, nice and polite—Damiano from Måneskin doesn't exist. The only rule that applies here is “I like you, or I dislike you”. This is a city that brings things together and irons out differences—everyone exercises the right to make their own judgment.

Victoria: My relationship with Rome has changed over the years, now it’s the city I love most in the world. I like its rawness. It brings you back to reality and since we’re immersed in ever more crazy experiences, that helps us a lot. Los Angeles, London, and New York are stimulating, but coming home allows me to go out into the world without losing myself. When I was a kid, I didn't like it so much: I grew up in Monteverde, which is a very quiet neighborhood, and I remember that when we started playing in the streets, in secondary school, everyone used to make fun of us—we were the weirdos, the ones who dressed like oddballs. If we’d been more fragile this would have stopped us; instead it triggered a sense of revenge in us, which spurred us on even more.

Thomas: I’m in love with [the neighborhood] Trastevere. During the pandemic I rented an Airbnb there, it was like living in a model town: 10,000 inhabitants who all know each other. People have real contact with you.

Måneskin are waxing lyrical about Rome from Mexico City, where they have just held a rather epic concert. Alessandro Michele and I have got hold of them while we’re in this ancient city that sprinkles the dust of the gods on your shoulders. Victoria, Damiano, Ethan, and Thomas tell us about a boat trip with mariachi bands playing and locals cooking onboard to celebrate the Day of the Dead. As I watch them—bodies still heavy with sleep, curled up in the bright morning sun—I think that Liliana Segre [a 92-year-old Italian politician and Holocaust survivor] is right when she says that she loves their music even though, at times, she has to look up the lyrics because “just by looking at them, I forget to follow the words.” Måneskin has this effect: when you look at them, you’re enchanted. Alessandro Michele once said, “Before communicating with words, communicate the body.” Måneskin’s bodies tell the story of sexual freedom, partly thanks to the harmony of intention that, with Michele, they have forged as a group, stitching together a union of powerful textures that Gucci's creative director explains in this way:

Alessandro: I’m a real pyromaniac and when I get my hands on some fuel I go crazy with happiness. I was following them and I thought, “This has to happen,” because we were already having a dialogue without knowing it. When we finally met it was like when you have sex for the first time with the person you like and you say, “It was obvious that we were going to make love in an extraordinary way.” A project like that can only be realized if there’s real harmony: it's an incredible amount of work because they’re doing so much, but I recognize myself in this hyper-production because I hyper-produce too—so together we create what feels like a super-long rosary prayer in which we “recite” dresses, jackets, bustiers, bodices, and combinations that seem impossible. The kind of clothes that I like are those with bodies in them, and with Måneskin there’s a very precise ritual: the clothes become a bonfire, they are set alight, and turn to dust on stage.

Damiano: We were already on the same path, but our meeting made everything easier right from the start. Every time, Alessandro conjures up magic. He enters deep into music and transforms it into that visual impact that helps us perform with our bodies, too.

Thomas: What I like most about working together is seeing so much professionalism combined with a very strong artistic side, which is by no means something I take for granted. We have a lot of fun, too. There’s a lot of laughter during the fittings.

Alessandro: One thing that my way of working has in common with yours is that you set alight something that has already been and gone (fire is clearly the common element of today’s discussion). You’ve taken a genre that was tucked away in a cellar, labelled as old and obsolete, and you’ve brought it back into thenow, making it exist again. You’re a “has been” that has become contemporary, impossible to decipher. How would you describe your relationship with the past?

Damiano: What’s made the difference for us is that yes, we hooked up with something from the past, but we didn’t respect its canon. We just did stuff we like, expressing ourselves exactly as we were. People who call themselves rock purists don’t compete at Sanremo or Eurovision, but we don’t have any issues with that. Being popular isn’t a stain; it doesn't sully you. No one opens a restaurant thinking, “I don't care about filling up the room.” I want to see a line outside the door!

Victoria: When we write our music, we do what comes instinctively to us. Each of us brings our own feelings and inspirations. For instance, I grew up listening to David Bowie, Led Zeppelin, Blondie, and the Sex Pistols. So when we get together in the studio we’re a great mix of different worlds. Sometimes this ends up in a clash and makes the creative process more complicated, but ultimately the result is never a copy of something that already exists. We manage to find a new path—a way that is ours and ours alone.

Thomas: It’s true, we mix up our tastes a lot and since we started out as a band we’ve evolved in the way we play. We've always gone for the rock approach on stage—the electricity we transmit comes naturally to us. Unlike you, Alessandro, I’m pretty nostalgic about the past: I grew up with my father who made me listen to the great rock bands, and so I've been eating up that attitude forever.

Ethan: I’d like to add that in my opinion time doesn't exist, it's a bit of an illusion. Somehow present, past, and future are the same thing—it’s just that we have the perception of moments that pass one after the other, so the past is the present we’ve already lived, and the future is the present that wewill live. It is like when we stand between two mirrors, one in front and one behind: it creates that infinite tunnel in which every movement is reflected in both the front mirror and the back mirror, uniting them. The difference between the past and the future is simply this: the past sees your back, while the future sees your face. You’re in between and you’re a combination of the two—and whatever action you perform happens either because you did something earlier or because of what you will do later.

Alessandro: Building on your mirror metaphor, think about if you turn your back on the future and look at the past, which then reflects what the future could be. I like your idea—the present is an exercise in perception, but maybe we decide the time, and you’ve kind of decided yours. What is your relationship with time?

Victoria: It's a complicated relationship, mine. Basically, you want what you don’t have at any moment. Up until two years ago, when we were on tour I’d miss Rome, my family, and my friends—but when I’d come back, after a week I’d be fried, I’d feel disoriented. For a couple of years now we've been constantly on the road, and it's crazy but also dangerous, because the lack of time risks affecting the artistic side: It can happen that we find ourselves writing a song in five days and it ends up being really foolish—we should take all the time in the world for our music.

Damiano: If I could take a pill to catch up on moments I have missed, I’d take one to be with friends, family, my girlfriend. I’d like to live the kind of conviviality that I haven't allowed myself in the last few years because I've always told myself, “Goals before everything else.” I did it with sport and now I’m doing it with music. Now that I’m older and have a different relationship with my parents and my brother—much more equal—I’d like to enjoy them.

Ethan: I’d climb a mountain, look for a monastery, and find someone who can teach me everything I can’t grasp by myself.

Thomas: The subject of time is one that makes me really suffer. The thing I miss most is having the time to grow as a musician, to bring everything I learn into our group. When a car is going so fast, it’s genuinely difficult to maintain a strong artistic component. That's why, even when I’m exhausted, I take the odd moment to just start playing [my guitar]. I don’t want to fall behind the dreams that I have for myself.

Ethan: The feeling you just described is an obsession of mine, too—I call it “the paradox of the famous artist.” Before they find fame, the artist is a nobody and has all the time in the world to create. When their art becomes famous, so does the artist, but because of their new fame they no longer have time to make the art. It’s an inevitable trap.

Damiano: This is the disease that has afflicted music in recent years. We’ve become used to seeing artists constantly promoting their work. I’m blown away by Harry Styles’s workload, he probably hasn't had a day off in the last four years. Part of me says, “Wow, what willpower,” but I wonder if it's fair to get our audience used to this kind of consumption—you start to forget that we’re human. Overexposure and working too far beyond our physical capabilities is what has destroyed the careers of the best artists of recent generations. When you can no longer live your life because on the one hand you’re overwhelmed by responsibilities and on the other you’re eaten up with fear about disappearing (what happens if I say no to that interview, to the TV appearance, to the tour), you begin to suffocate. I’d like to avoid a second wave of musicians going crazy or dying bloated from medication. There are so many good artists, I’d like to keep them healthy for the next few years!

Alessandro: I was already grown up when I became known to the fashion public. I was almost 42, and I realized that you have to hold onto who you are and where you’re going: You have to love yourself a lot and you have to love what you do just as much. You also have to learn to say no a lot. We’re human beings who like to create worlds: You imagine sounds that don’t exist and put them together, I see things that others don't see. It’s a great gift to be able to share with others what we hear and the stories we want to tell. The things I do must feel right to me: as long as there’s a small part of you in the music you make, that sincerity will pay off. In my spare time, for example, I am practicing idleness. I’m still learning because the need to constantly invent things is ingrained in me. I’m experimenting in a non-philosophical but practical way—what happens if I find the space to say, “Let’s see if I can resist without doing anything”? In my life I’ve developed a Calvinist sense of guilt when it comes to not doing stuff, but idleness is creative. It’s a practice that helps develop the senses.

Compared to Alessandro Michele and the members of Måneskin, I’m a travel newbie: I write books and take planes and trains to accompany them around the world, but there’s no comparison to these guys’ rhythms and lives. And yet, going from place to place, sleeping in hotels is always a bit alienating for me, it makes me feel uncomfortable. So I often cling to smells: When I smell something that reminds me of home, I feel less lonely. And I’ve found that the same goes for Ethan.

Ethan: Smells are very interesting, often we don't realize but they’re portals to another time. For example, the other day I smelled a scent that I’d forgotten, and it physically took me back to a place I hadn't thought about for a long time. I’d lived in a camper van for a year, I didn't have much money at that time and my kitchen had a really specific smell. When I smelled it again, I thought fondly, “I’d forgotten that!”

Damiano: No smells for me, but lots of cat hair. My clothes are always covered in cat hair, every time I open my suitcase I remember the cats, so they’re the ones who are my temporal gateways: they bring me home. By the way, cats are professionals at practicing idleness.

Alessandro: It's true, animals are great masters of idleness. They live this cosmic wholeness that is beautiful. The now is a vast expanse for them while we are restless, worrying about a future ready to punish us for our choices.

Thomas: I’ve given up with pets. When I was 11 years old, I got my beloved piranha. I loved him so much, he was with me for 10 glorious years, but then he died. I didn’t want to replace him with anything else, and every now and then I pay him a visit. I buried him in the courtyard of my [apartment] building, that way I always have him close by.

Alessandro: You’re like Peggy Guggenheim who wanted all her little dogs buried beside her. My partner and I have a ritual: Every time we go to Venice we go to them, we stop in front of the tombstone, and we read the names that by now I know by heart: Cappucino, Hong Kong, Gypsy, Baby. The relationship we have with these creatures is mysterious, almost shamanic. We look to them to address a need in ourselves. We like them because they allow us to rediscover an affectionate, intimate conversation that has been lost. But I have another question. You’ll have been asked it many times but I’d like to understand your relationship with Victoria—from the outside it seems that there’s a real empathy between you.

Damiano: It's like with those huge families, with lots of brothers and sisters. After a while you forget your sister’s a woman!

Thomas: We spend so much time together that that thing is no longer there, that barrier that you usually feel between the sexes.

Damiano: Exactly, there's not the awkwardness of wanting to impress or the fear of looking like you're trying. By now we all know that none of us will ever hit on Vic, and Vic will never hit on us. We’re friends. She wants to get naked? Let her get naked! We all do what we want. After seven years we’re the same.

Victoria: In our family I don't feel any kind of difference. I’m very free, and in general gender cannot and should never be a discriminating factor, but I think I’m lucky: I’ve never been treated differently because I’m female. That’s not always the case: There are many environments where the gender gap creates unacceptable inequality in the way you’re treated, you constantly feel sexualized, inspected, and treated like an object.

Ethan: I’d like to add that being born with a vagina or a penis does not make you a woman or a man. What interests me is the soul of a person, and that’s neither male nor female – it’s simply an energy. I listen to them talk and think of Rupert Brooke's poetry: “I shall desire and I shall find / The best of my desires.” They do not hesitate, getting lost in possibilities, they have a thirst that spurs them on while I’m always sure I’ll lose everything. I go to sleep even as the world sparkles. And then Thomas will tell you about the evening he spent at Madonna’s house…

Thomas: Vic goes out every night. I want to as well, but it's hard to keep up with her. A few days ago I met an Italian guy who lives in New York and he invited me to a party. So I went along while, for once, Vic went back to the hotel. I think it was the first time in two years that she did that. And what happened was that eventually I found myself sitting next to Madonna. I called her and said, “Vic, I'm at Madonna's house!” She was really annoyed.

Victoria: It was terrible! Even when I’m completely spent, I always go out because I'm afraid of missing things, and actually I was right. The one time I chose to sleep, I missed a party at Madonna's house. That's proof that I have to go out more!

Alessandro: Do you have any day-to-day tasks that one of you always does? Is there something that one of you is particularly good at? For example, I’m the medicine guy at home. I know where everything is so my partner asks me if he ever needs anything. He could find and take it himself, but it's an act of caring that I like to perform for him.

Damiano: I can count on Thomas because he’s curious, he likes to get us into situations even ones he wouldn’t go near if he were alone. For example, he took me to some NBA games even though he’s not a basketball fan. Vic is the most organized in terms of schedule. She reminds us of our appointments, but then always arrives 15 minutes late herself! Ethan is the perfect spokesperson: He has platonic gifts and we can talk together for hours and hours.

Thomas and Victoria: Damiano is very pragmatic, no flights of fancy and he gets straight to the point—he’s a rock.

Alessandro: We could go on with this chat forever. I like you guys so much because you have a precious gift: You’re in touch with life. Maybe for you it’s an unconscious reflex, but when I meet you I feel an electric shock. You have a beautiful awareness, and that’s something that it’s crucial to take care of.

📸 HUGO COMTE

#i love this interview 🫶🏻🫶🏻🥹#måneskin #maneskin #vogue italia #house of måneskin #november 2022 #interview #long post #my posts 💫#article

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gorbalsvampire · 4 months

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Vampire: the Requiem (2e) Readthrough Review (Repost)

About eighteen months ago I picked up the second edition of Vampire: the Requiem and, while laid up with the first instance of mortifying acid reflux (it would not be the last) I decided to do a full readthrough review. Then I went insane and deleted my accounts at least once. But! Wayback Machine to the rescue! The text survives and here it is again.

I don’t want to make too many comparisons to Vampire: the Masquerade because “is it better?” comes up every couple of weeks on the White Wolf RPG subreddit and has done for years and I’m tired. I want to talk about Requiem on its own merits where I can. That said, I cannot avoid being an old hand who knew VtM first and has been playing V5 for two years: I’m bound to evaluate what I discover in terms of what I already know.

Images are from the book in question, sourced via the Storytellers’ Vault, spirit of fair use, purely for illustrative/visual handhold purposes.

A Date with the Night: world building

The onboarding is solid, with the key questions asked and answered (in sightly purple prose, but still):

what do we do in this game? (we predate, but we also philanthropise, we also party: we are trying to be something other than a machine that eats blood forever)

what’s the internality of the characters like? (who you are as a vampire is precariously balanced with who you pretend to be as a human and you need to do both, in very practical terms)

what’s the core conflict? (Strix have existed for as long as Kindred have, they are the old-school pre-literary revenant vampires, and they hate you) (VtR 1e was pretty bad at this, it didn’t have a fallback for when your brain wouldn’t turn over, and the Strix answer this need: when you don’t know what to do with your players, throw a Strix at them)

Clan presentation, again, really good. The focus on what kind of predator they are, how the human experiences them; the range of example personas presented; the recommendations on stats, sweet Jesus yes, it’s about damn time. The game explicitly says “hey this signature power uses those numbers and this one uses these, bear that in mind, here’s what priorities here or there on the sheet might look like as a character so you’re not feeling like the system mastery has crowded out your vision.”

Covenant presentation is a bit weaker; it doesn’t feel anchored into the processes of gameplay to the same extent, there isn’t that “hey, you’re Lancea et Sanctum, here are some Merits you might want to consider” – I don’t know why that might be yet but it feels a bit lacklustre after the very table-focused material on the clans.

I do like how the clan origin stories and the extinct clans and covenants suggest a metaplot without beating me over the head with it. There was a thing called the Camarilla in Rome, it was the first proper vampire society, it fell apart because historical pressures but also Strix, it survives in these ways. But there’s no Grician bias stuff here – no specifics for the brain to snag and snare upon, no numbers and no iconic signature characters into whose biography the game texts can deteriorate.

As I read it I’m thinking “OK so how does that plug into the European history I’m interested in exploring, how far from Rome are we here?” or “OK but how does this place much further away talk back to any of that, we’re beyond the frontiers of Rome with this one, did they ever have a Camarilla or are we looking at Circle-Town from the year dot?” The covenants feel inspiring from a storytelling perspective but in terms of character generation they’re not quite made concrete.

The All Night Society is an in universe introduction to setting concepts like the Traditions, the processes of hunting and ghouling. I find this sort of thing accessible enough but there are bits where I’d like to be told how it works. The Cacophony, for instance: I can grasp the idea from this impressionistic and dreamlike prose, but mine is not a life of underground parties or graffiti tags, and I could do with this shit translated into Parochial Geek through the medium of concrete, at-table example. Just walk us through how it manifests in an example of play. Oddly I don’t get the same effect from Solace even though I’ve never been a habitual drug user.

There’s a shadow of things to come, with the spread on feeding grounds and havens, but it isn’t reified with recommended Backgrounds to represent that stuff. (I stand by Predator and Coterie Types as the quiet best innovation of V5, by the way, more definitive of how you do vampirism than any amount of sect allegiances.) All in, it’s a good chapter for hooks and eyes.

Building a Monster: chargen (and rules) (and then chargen again) (but also reference)

Laws of the Dead runs pretty long – character generation and all the Disciplines are in here. I’m going to stat up my old character (since I lost his sheet anyway and didn’t really know what I was doing when I made him) along the way for another perspective on all this material.

Aspirations are a useful early feature: pick three things your character wants to achieve in the game, one or two relating to Kindred existence and at least one relating to the human world. Characters need to want things, not just “be rounded” by events in their past – they need to be moving toward events as yet unresolved. Personally I think it should be one pre-mortem one post-mortem and one space to allow emergent gameplay, as I always end up going off down some strange tangent for session after session and then feeling bad because it’s not what I told the Storyteller I wanted to do with the game.

Adrian Royce is a Ventrue and a member of the Carthian Movement: his concept is “Weird Left Zine Correspondent”. His human-facing Aspiration is to pay off an enormous debt – he dug a deep deep hole of expenses researching his first book and he’s got to square that somehow. His Kindred-facing Aspiration is to uncover a secret that gives him leverage over/among his fellow Ventrue – I imagine he’s a bit shit by the clan’s standards, a wrong side of the tracks Embrace for all that he’s the best possible version of himself.

I’ve always liked the nWod/CofD “grid” of Attributes – cross-reference the kind of challenge (mental, physical or social) with the approach being taken (power, finesse, resistance) and you’ll know exactly which one to roll in a given moment. Couple that with a robust “let’s think about what this word means” approach to the Abilities and you’ll be calling the dice pools with confidence in no time. It does help to be up front about this approach, defining the Traits with players, just in case they think seducing someone is a Subterfuge roll by default when you see dice pools more as “what are you trying to achieve with this seduction – do you want to make someone believe you because you’re hot, or do you want something material out of it?” kind of decision.

Adrian isn’t a particularly finesse-oriented person – he gets what he wants through force of personality, occasional acts of violence, and sheer tenacity. He’s not particularly smart, although he works hard. Social prime, then Physical, then Mental. Mental Skills take a higher priority though, he’s well trained and makes up for his lack of exceptional smarts with a rigorous approach to investigation. Physical gets bumped down: he can handle himself in a fight and he’s picked or planted the odd pocket in his time, but he’s nothing spectacular. His specialties are in Investigation (Conspiracy Theories), Expression (Journalism) and Brawl (Boxing) – I’ve decided he has a hobby that makes him a little bit tastier in a scrap. His clan gives him an extra dot in Presence, which is a nice way to pick up a four-dot ability without sacrificing anything else, or compensate for a sacrificed dot somewhere.

Beats kind of sneak into the middle of character creation. These are super important as beats – as in story beats – convert into experience points. From the sessions I played a few years ago I remember beats coming thick and fast, a core part of the gameplay loop. Is the list of things that give a beat on the Storyteller Screen? It is not (they needed that space for half a page of grappling rules, obviously).

New Disciplines are sensibly gatekept – the clans’ unique Disciplines require a teacher and a sip of the ol’ vitae, the covenants’ unique Disciplines require a teacher, everything else is up for grabs.

There’s a list of archetypal Masks and Dirges (your pretend human self and your real Kindred self, respectively) that restore all or one of your Willpower points when you live up to them (I’m hoping Willpower is the ‘extra dice’ ‘reroll’ or ‘auto success’ generator it’s been in other versions of the game – I honestly forget how that works – but there’d better be lots of incentives to spend it!).

Touchstones appear here, but they’re both a little more nuanced (it’s acknowledged that they can be a place or a thing, although a glance at the ST screen has revealed that spending time around humans is mechanically enforced by the Requiem rule set) and a lot more developed (there’s a good two pages of examples for you to build off, why the hell didn’t V5 do this?).

I’ve adapted the “Former Patron” for Adrian. He has a close friendship with a ‘zine editor, the only person who’ll consistently employ him and pay him steady money for whatever he turns in on or about the deadline. Ricky – for ‘tis his name – isn’t stupid, he knows Adrian is Kindred, but he’s taken a “don’t ask don’t tell” approach and Ade is grateful for the mercy, since not being asked means he doesn’t have to lie.

At this stage we get into a cluster of more in-play rules, and…

On the whole, page for page, this book is beating V5. The layout is sensible and consistent, the art assets aren’t gratuitous, the artified text boxes generally draw the attention to a key idea summarised in direct and emotive text, and I haven’t ever had to follow two ongoing arguments across two sets of different coloured columns in a six column spread. But the information flow through chapters is just as bad as V5, and really shits the bed at this point: I’m trying to make a character and there’s page after page of core gameplay activities in the middle of the chapter between Touchstones and Merits.

If I’m walking someone through chargen and getting them to read the words so they understand what they’re doing with the dots (instead of just learning the summary and not really doing the process in full depth) this is bad, because it breaks flow and we lose momentum and concentration. If I’m looking for a rule during play, this is bad because core activities are clustered up in the middle of a section about something else and there’s no marshalling of information onto spreads or anything. This is just about acceptable in a PDF, with search and hyperlink at your side, but it’s rubbish in a physical book.

We get into the rules for damage, and for vitae, and the Blush of Life casually tosses off that for one (1) vitae, vampires can keep a meal down for most of the night, or have sex. That’s that. No lengthy “at Humanity 4 you can’t get it up but you can fingerbang” granularity. Neat and tidy. It’s just another biological thing they might need to do sometimes.

Predatory Aura is also neat: an explanation for just why Kindred society has all these customs and all that elaborate rigmarole. Kindred know Kindred; the Beast stirs, and can be incited to lash out. This is the bare-fangs-and-hiss routine; this is the stagey, theatrical sexuality; this is the sneering and posturing behind polite words. And it’s got some simple, hard and fast rules keyed to Willpower and Power Attribute rolls. And it gets past the "how do I know that you're a vampire?" stage in meeting the NPCs. Do like.

Rules for posthumous Embraces and the rise of the corpse as a Revenant – nice touch. Another threat that can find its way in should the session or story need some sizzle, as anyone who’s been bitten can rise if they come into contact with vitae after death or are fully exsanguinated on a later feeding (which is how we get the Lucy-in-Dracula moments). Lovely stuff.

Feeding is in here: there’s the simple way, and the “well, you have to grapple first” combat option (ahh, that’s why grapple rules ended up on the ST sheet – but the beats would have been nice to have!) And certain chestnuts about blood and vitae are described explicitly: the physical fluid nourishes more or less depending on where it comes from, so different amounts are needed. I wish the exact processes and amounts were on the goddamn sheet (I won’t need weapon damage in every session, but I will definitely need feeding!) though. Finally an example of play as well, to cover the no-dice feeding option, which definitely needs it.

I’m going to stop complaining about the stupid ST sheet eventually, but why isn’t the frenzy modifier chart on there? Frenzies can come up in any scene, god damn it…

There’s a long and disorganised list of Merits. Some of them – the Carthian Merits I’m trying to pick out for Adrian – come in multiple tiers and I can see the shape of the Loresheet system from V5 in there. They seem to have been sorted by “Kindred only” and “Mortals can take these too” but they’re the wrong way round (I’d put bedrock stuff like Contacts and Status up front, since a lot of the Kindred ones refer to these or have them as prerequisites). Also, the lack of sub-sorting means that if, for instance, I’m building a Carthian, I have to flip back and forth a lot just to figure out what all my options are and what I need to chain into this or that to make them go. Chalk this up to something Masquerade has always done better (either by skimming specific ones off into clan and sect supplements, or dumping a lot of them into an optional appendix and having the core focus on the important Backgrounds that locate your character in the world).

Adrian has ten Merit points to spend. I’m going to start with Human Merits, because they’re more concrete bread and butter assets like “living indoors” and “having money”, and go into the weeds of Kindred Merits once I’m happy that he’s grounded. He has a dot in Allies, representing the activist community who know and tolerate him because he occasionally turns up something extremely useful. Area of Expertise (Investigation) makes him really good at that due diligence and Barfly will help him blend in when he’s doing the legwork. True Friend doubles down on his relationship with his Touchstone, Ricky T: Adrian strikes me as a hard man to like, but faithful to the bitter end in return. Finally, I’m going to buy him some Carthian Status as a prerequisite to his Kindred Merits: I’m starting to feel like Adrian’s a bit of a sofa surfer, leeching off his covenant and repaying the favours with hard graft and the occasional truth bomb. Carthian Pull and I Know A Guy will work for this at low level, giving him access to the odd low tier ‘background’ dot in exchange for a story-generating favour. I have one dot left and pop back to the Mortal list to pick up Trained Observer, just to lean harder into that “works hard, pays attention” feel.

The chapter closes out with Disciplines, which I am absolutely not going to talk about at any length. I’m just going to remark that the multiplying XP costs of other Vampire iterations are long gone, that Devotions (what I know as Amalgams) are sidepieces with an experience cost based on the number of dots that go into them, and that every Discipline has a stat+skill+discipline pool as standard.

As a Ventrue Adrian has access to Dominate in-clan, so I’m going to go hard on it as his unique selling point. Two dots there give me the simple four word command and the option of chaining three of those together into a series of instructions or extended control. His dice pool for it isn’t great, so I go back and swap his Attribute priorities; three dots in Intelligence to make the Discipline go. Looking at his dots now, he’s got a powerful intellect and forceful personality but he’s not very quick or delicate in his approach, and while he can throw hands if he has to, he probably treats them a bit too much like an amateur boxing ring and starts shit he can’t finish. He gets a dot in Resilience to round him out, and give him a chance to stay on his feet in these tight spots.

And we’re done. That took longer than I’d have liked, largely because this felt like three chapters (some core rules, the Disciplines writeup and character generation) rammed into one poorly-organised whole. The writing is on point, the layout is good, the art assets are unobtrusive and feel relevant, but the flow is all over the place and I suspect it’ll be actively annoying to refer back to this section in play. At least now I know where things are.

Playing With Your Food (game rules) (the rest of them)

Rules of the Night (hopefully this will go a bit faster!)

Usual stats-n-skills breakdown, but I like the suggested equipment and sample actions that come along with each skill to guide use of them – that should avoid the dead dots problem where someone takes dots in Etiquette and the chronicle never uses it, since it’s a player’s responsibility to suggest things like dice pools in order to move the story along. (I mean, Etiquette is a tiered Merit here, but you get the idea.) A very good page and a half on commonplace activities and their dice pools, which is built into the section on dice rolls and doesn’t make weird claims about what kind of fuckin’ is good fuckin’ (V5, take note!). I don’t always like these (as I’ve said, sometimes seducin’ someone is Charisma and sometimes it’s Manipulation, the approach and desired outcome should set the pools) but if people want a usual roll, there it is.

Social Man… eo… that word I can’t spell

Good things about this system: it’s specifically for players to use on non-player characters.

Bad things about this system: it introduces trackables in the shape of Goals and Doors that need to be calculated, modified, and tracked in a long chain of rolls that may take days of in-game time to fully resolve. It’s a very roundabout way of figuring out how many rolls of varying types are involved in the extended task of getting someone to do what you want. It does reduce down to a formula (take lowest of Resolve or Composure, add 2 if a breaking point would be met, add 1 if an Aspiration would be thwarted, add 1 if a Mask would be compromised, you need that many successful rolls – not successes – to get what you want) and I like the concept of introducing not-social rolls to the process (on the grounds that fixing someone’s garage door will make them like you more and feel indebted to you) but it all feels a bit protracted.

There is the shape of something good here but I dramatically prefer the approach V5 takes of introducing Social Conflicts with Willpower as a “damage tracker”, resolvable in three rounds, each of which can be instantaneous or protracted.

Combat is fine, it’s the usual stat + skill – target’s defence dice pool. Dodging doubles your Defence and turns it into a dice pool you roll against your attacker, which I’m not sure about the odds on. I think I’d rather have the blanket dice penalty imposed on an attacker’s pool as not letting them roll dice is surely better than rolling my own to see how many 30% chances of cancelling out their dice I can muster. Perhaps Dodge is there because people roleplaying fight scenes want to be able to dodge, because they don’t want their character to throw hands. That seems more likely.

I am going to do another “V5 did this better” – I am trying to rein it in, I swear, I know this is an older game – and say that V5 has the only initiative system I will ever accept as better (for my theatre of the mind playstyle) than “just start with the player on my left and work around the table”. Instead of all this “roll dice add character trait bonus subtract weapon malus” stuff V5 works off the dynamics of the scene, ticking down through existing close combat between already engaged parties, then ranged, then fresh close combat, then everything else. This works because what’s important isn’t the realistic simulation of real combat or the random factor: it’s building scenes in a way that makes sense and helps everyone grok what’s happening and serves to organise who rolls dice when and in what order turns are taken.

Equipment is more granular than I’m used to but I don’t entirely hate it: it’s things that are useful, expressed in terms of the Merits needed to acquire them, and I think that’s a better way of using Merits than the rather vague “I have Resources 5 so I should be able to hire NPCs to do everything for me”. Availability is a dot rating which you can match with Merits or successes from rolls – so if something’s Availability 4, you need Resources 4 or you’re rollin’ to see if you can blag it somehow.

Conditions get bumped into an appendix for ease of reference. I’m ambivalent about these. Once you’ve got them into your head they’re probably fine but it might well be easier to just say “characters affected by this mind whammy get a -2 to Social Resistance rolls” than constantly cross-referencing to the Mind Whammied condition. I feel these work better with the reference cards – something tactile you can toss across the table so a player can refer to it, and hand back when it’s done – but I forget what it was like trying to wrangle them on Roll20.

The World Against Us (adversaries, locations and ref advice)

The World We Die In takes us through a series of sample domains: Athens, Beijing (with a localised version of the Ordo Dracul), Berlin, Montreal, North Carolina (with a Jiangshi clan that remind me of the very heart of the old Wan Kuei from VtM), San Francisco, Swansea (Swansea?), Tokyo (with localised covenants – zaibatsu – replacing the familiar five)… I think this is a nice answer to “Requiem has no lore” and “Catholics and pagans are not global phenomena you Eurocentrist pillock”, which are pain points I've heard in more than a few of my Masquerade groups.

Storytelling is a busy but focused chapter, which talks about how to emphasise each aspect of play – Mask and Dirge, Aspiration, Blood Potency, Vitae, Conditions and so on – offering a Twist for each one that really brings it out of the morass of play. My favourites are the Vitae Twists with tokens passed across the table and no numbers said aloud when feeding, and an option to say “chuck the character sheet, Vitae are dice, you can roll as many as you want, but when you’re running low, you must feed”, with damage coming out of the Vitae pool as well, and a five-dice no-control Frenzy at the bottom. (I really like this one, it’s the most… vampirism is all that matters… of the whole lot so far.) I’d use that with the Blood Beats twist as, let’s face it, conventional experience doesn’t really matter here, what matters is accumulating experience to become More Vampire by adding Blood Potency.

I also like the Twist to replace health trackers with Conditions applied as characters take hits. The mathematics involved seems like it doesn’t so much replace the health tracker as add a layer to it – I think I’d base this on margins of success during combat rolls rather than doing sums to see how much each character can take.

And there’s a really neat mode for character generation – a 12 step programme for fleshing Your Dude out with the other players and the storyteller, basically a collaborative relationship map that you build during character creation. I love group character creation and I also like when players bring me NPC ideas. Colour me pleased with this. I’d want to do this before even putting dots down; basically, concept, then Climbing the Ladder, then building the characters and setting.

An appendix for ghoul characters (with unique ghoul merits – for the first time ever I might actually think a ghoul chronicle is worth doing, as an extended Prelude), an appendix for conditions, and we are done!

Would I run this? Yes. It’s not perfect – the information flow of the rules is all over the place, especially interrupting the character generation is a no-no, and I really don't like Doors – but those are the only two tooth-grinders, so it’s walking in with a credible 7/10.

Additional, after the fact: I did end up running half a V:tR story, and came to the conclusion that Requiem has some incredible ideas about how vampires work but doesn't quite boil them down into efficient systems, at least not ones that I can run over Discord. With a face to face group and a deck of Condition cards and tokens to track feeding it would probably be easier to do. I do think it's superior to V5 on at least one systemic front though, and that's with Humanity... which we will come to very shortly.

#vampire the requiem #vtr #game review #rulebook review #readthrough review #self repost #don't be mentally ill and delete your accounts folx

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