Don't Talk To Me I'm Pissed [Open, 100 word Minimum]

Avery paced back and fourth, circling the bonfire. He'd speed a few laps around it, before spinning on his heel and moving the other direction with no particular timing involved. It was clear the boy was angry, what with the brooding glare he gave the ground in front of him. His eyes were dark, but somehow maintained a dangerous glint in the flickering of the burning kindle he looped. Everything about him was tense, from the unusually pronounced muscle tendons in his arms to the knuckles of his fingers, which had turned mostly white from pressure, save for the red welts in the center. The boy had hit something, hard. And he was certainly not happy about it. Under his breath he emitted string after string of grumbles, curses in greek and gaelic and english. The smart thing to do would be to stay clear of him. The caring thing to do would be to ask if he was okay. The fun thing to do would be to prod at the angry son of Morpheus about what had happened. Fun coincided with the words stupid and dangerous.

Don't Talk To Me I'm Pissed [Open, 100 word Minimum] Tumblr_m9vdg4NF0O1r8bnq5o1_500

Skylar Cross

Skye was neglecting her cabin leader duties, or at least for the moment. She was too cold to keep working at the ride, so she headed over here. A nymph had given her a fleece blanket, and she accepted it gratefully.
She was now sitting on a lawn chair, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. The cabin leader wasn't sitting in the lawn chair correctly, her legs draped over the arm rest at an angle, a fleece blanket keeping her legs warm. She had been watching the boy out of the corner of her eye, slightly wondering what was wrong with him, but also not caring enough to ask. He was just pacing, and he looked pretty pissed off. There was no other way to put it, he looked angry.
"Yo. Are you ok?" she asked, putting down her hot chocolate, leaning forward in her chair.

outfit: ? || word count: 146 :'D || rp partner: Sniggle

Avery's back arched straight, he whipped around to stare into the soul of whoever had just spoken to him. Interestingly enough, it was someone vaguely familiar. He recognized her from several cabin leader meetings, back when he'd been at the head of Hera. His expression molded into a miserable, dirty sneer. "Oh, you. What's your face." He turned and rolling his neck, cracking it, before jamming his hands into his pockets, thumbs left untucked. The girl was of little interest to him at the moment. He just wanted to find the ugly brute who'd confronted him and--wait a minute. Imaginary sparks flickered around his head as if a magical idea had occurred to him. It wasn't so much a plan as it was a long-shot in the dark. "You're head of a cabin. Which cabin?" The boys he was looking for were most certainly sons of Hermes. Those devilish grins and tangled mops of brown hair. The sparkle of mischief that had been playing in their eyes Avery had clipped one of them in the nose for that. Afterwards the sparkling was more likely to be caused by tears.

With unnecessary scrutiny, Avery eyed the girl up and down in a somewhat distasteful manner, as if he thought himself to be a king trying to fix up his subordinate--with no avail. Sure, the guy was grumpy a lot. Most of the time, probably. But he generally wasn't this bad. The Hera cabin's ex-leader was undeniable infuriated at the Hermes boys, his blood boiling over with a tiny demon screaming 'revenge' in the back of his head. Thanks to the cunning little buttholes, Avery had a growing welt on his neck, that made his throat burn every time he talked. And that's not even to mention the bruises forming underneath his shirt. It's one thing to fist fight, but outnumber and beat the crap out of a guy at a festival? That was a new low. Even for the sons of a thief. And all of this for a meager amount of drachmas and his pendant. How brusque.

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