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 the troublesome, icy me :: open

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a. hams
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PostSubject: the troublesome, icy me :: open   Wed Nov 05, 2014 11:23 pm

tremble little lion man you'll never settle any of your scores
Life was a long and winding road, Tiberius had decided. It was full of twists and turns that were best left untravelled, for fear of losing your way and becoming a monster inside. Life was a dirt path in the middle of the forest, trampled upon by familiar footsteps that were not your own, and the slower you walked the more you lived. In this sense, to stop and smell the roses would be a good thing. Life was unpredictable like the darkened foliage under the canopy of thick leaves, relentless to let a prick of light shine through the branches. Life, to a boy like Tiberius Winters, was a thing he didn’t want to tamper with. No, the young demigod was content with living out his days silently and softly, with nary smile on his face or happiness in his grey eyes. His eyes were almost always grey these days, stone cold with hard set reality. Dreams had long since fled from Ty’s mind, finding that he had no time for fun or games, being a man of business and realism. His personality had gone out the window too, and no longer was Tibs able to strike up a conversation like he once was able to, a god among men in some cases. No longer did his former friends come to visit him anymore, as they knew that trying to coax the stubborn cabin leader into hanging out was pointless.

Ty had been left to his own devices, and with nobody to please and nobody to pursue, he spent most of his time at the library. He blamed his fear of living life to the fullest on the blonde girl, the one who helped him out of the strange camp that he knew nothing about. His memories were gone, and with it all the love and warmth and security he’d once felt over the roofs of the various buildings in camp. If the blonde girl had been nicer, maybe Tiberius’ outlook on life would have been different. Although he didn’t mind it right now, because it gave him a chance to wander through the shelves of leather and paper and ink, and he’d spent hours running his fingers through the thick volumes, breathing in the scent of words. Books brought Tiberius back to life. Currently the young demigod sat in a upholstered chair, and it was red with crimson fabric, gold swirls swimming like smoke. Tibs had perfect posture, back straight and not touching the chair, legs uncrossed. In his hands a book of all of William Shakespeare’s sonnets were loosely gripped. The play-wright was easy for Ty to understand, hardly ever being stumped or confused. 

If someone else lived this life, they would have thought it exceedingly dull and pointless, and probably would have killed themselves out of sheer entertainment. However, to Tiberius this was exactly the life he wanted to live. There was hardly ever any danger, and without his memories he didn’t have to worry about other people. Attachments were not a thing to be proud of; they could just as easily kill you as a knife could. Nothing ever went wrong nowadays, and even if you couldn’t see it on his face, the cabin leader was happy. He was happy with a book in his hands, a cup of tea by his side, and a warm fire behind him warding away the chilly November air.
### words, poor baby ty :(


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summer
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PostSubject: Re: the troublesome, icy me :: open   Wed Dec 03, 2014 1:10 am


natalie hunter
i'd hate to ruin that pretty face of yours
It was extremely unusual to find Natalie Hunter in a library. After all, she wasn't the reading type, or the studious type at all. Besides, books and fire don't mix. But there Natalie was, ambling her way across the quiet, air-conditioned room.

The daughter of Hecate was slight in image, but moved with a fluent grace, very much like a cat. Her copper locks were a tumble over her shoulders and shifted regally with each step. She didn't head for the dozens of bookshelves like anyone else might, or pick up any stray books, but walked straight to the few velvety chairs sprawled near one of the three fireplaces. Dropping down silently on a cushion, Natalie propped her elbow on the bright golden arm of the chair and rested her chin delicately on an upturned palm.

For a moment, she was aware of the movements of a few volunteer librarians behind the mahogany bookshelves doing the much needed shelving, a camper sitting on another of the similar crimson chairs she was sitting on, apparently deeply immersed in his book, and the gentle sway of the grand chandelier that hung high up above her. Then all else was ignored as Natalie focused her attention on the flickering fire of the fireplace.

The fire was moderately strong and warded off the winter chill for a third of the library, which was unpopulated that afternoon except for her and that other camper. With a bored air, Natalie leaned back, staring straight into the dancing flames. The fire started to dim a little, like dwindling energy at the end of a long, tiresome day. Instead of a bright, leaping orange, the flames now scattered low, burning near the ashes. Then, with an impassive blink, she extinguished it altogether.


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