Caught in the spider's web (private)

It seemed that jack frost had decided to lay siege one again on camp half blood. Transparent snowflakes stuck to the window panes, making the world outside too bright and too blurry to see anything. Archer had woken up before the sunrise and had started to build his model house again, making sure that every detail was perfect and exact, because his deceased mother, father, and sister deserved nothing less. The rooms, though scaled down and less furnished, still had tiny reminders of what it once was. There was a little plastic plant in his parents bedroom, almost exactly like the real one. In Mallory’s room the sticks that had been glued together had been painted the exact color of her walls. Archer Thrush was a sucker for detail, and so maybe that was why he noticed and appreciated the translucent snowflakes on the window and thought that they were a work of art. Everybody else in the cabin was asleep, and Archer was very bored. But it wouldn’t have mattered even if they were awake because they wouldn’t talk to him. They had no means of communication as Archer was mostly deaf, only able to hear his heartbeat and screams. HIs deafness was so bad even he couldn’t make hearing aids to help him. But the time for moping was over; Archer now had a best friend and for the first time since the explosion felt like he had an actual chance in life. So he did something he wouldn’t normally do on a cold, wintry day like this: he got out of bed and got dressed. 

Today’s outfit was relatively simple; shiny ink coloured shoes and black semi-skinny jeans that were almost brand new. Archer wore a white shit with a print on it, though of what he wasn’t completely sure, he just grabbed it off the rack because he thought it looked cool. Over that to keep his arms from freezing he donned a ed plaid jacket, the variants of colors making a striking motive towards boldness. Archer contemplated wearing some fake glasses, and as a last minute decision threw them on, as well as a black beanie and a couple of necklaces with charms on them. Slipping out of bed quietly, Archer tried not to make any of the old wooden bunks creak, but that was kind of hard to do when, you know, couldn’t hear basically anything. The common room, as expected was pretty much empty save for one camper who was known to have insomnia, and was watching movies on the television quietly. Archer wished that he could do that when he had restless nights, but movies to him seemed a bit pointless, and so he mostly just stayed up to build his house or do some math equations. What he really wanted to do during those dark hours was archery, but it wasn’t allowed because of curfew and the boy wasn’t about to break another rule. 

By the time he’d actually gotten outside there was a beginning of a sunrise starting to peak through the dark grey trees. His grandfather had finally started to make his trek across America, lighting the day and banishing the night. Archer exhaled and shivered, noticing the white puffs that emitted from his mouth like clear crystals. Evidently it had snowed overnight by the looks of everything, though it wasn’t particularly deep. It was colder than the boy had anticipated, but it was much too late to go inside now, for fear of waking everyone else. So Archer decided to walk to the hot coca hut to hopefully get something warm inside him. Problem was, as he walked up there Archer saw how long the line was, and he was heart trodden. The wait would be about a half an hour by the looks of it, and then about five minutes more for the campers running the booth to complete his order. Maybe it would be best if he just went back to the cabin after all. Or maybe he could cut through everybody. After all, Archer’s light and thin frame allowed him to slip past others practically unnoticed. Sure, it would be dishonorable, but at least he’d get his drink. But Archer decided not to do that, and was about to turn around when he bumped into a boy. Without a pad of paper and a pen, Archer really had no way of communicating to the boy, because he assumed that the stranger didn’t know ASL. He stood there, fingers uselessly fumbling for words he could never use, mouth opening and closing with words he could never say. Archer, to say the least, was a fish out of water, and he probably looked stupid.

The signs that read ingredients for hot chocolate were quite far away. The backing itself was smooth, charcoal grey chalkboard, the writing a white script that had obviously been redone a few times over, as there were ghosts or previous sentences below them, like someone had murdered those words because they weren’t good or beautiful enough to be seem by the eyes of the campers. It was a same, really, Archer loved all words both perfect and screwed up, and he wasn’t just saying that because he was half athenian. Words truly did fascinate him, and with his hearing failing him the child had more time to study his love of linguistics now more than ever. In reality, Archer was complete rubbish at speaking other languages, but he could read them pretty easily. So far he had learned Gaelic, Spanish, and a little bit of Italian, not to mention, of course, Greek and English which had been hardwired into his brain since before he was born. Still, Archer had trouble reading the hot chocolate signs from this far away. The boy he had bumped into looked like a guy you didn’t want to mess with; particularly this legend didn’t want to mess with the stranger. Archer wasn’t weak, nor was he as strong as the person he’d rammed into. 

Ringing his hands and switching from foot to foot, Archer nodded as if he had decided on what he’d wanted. In truth, he didn’t have so much as a clue other than the beverage wasn’t to be so hot it would scald his tongue at the tinniest sip, and whip cream at the top. But he didn’t feel like talking to the intimidating demigod. For some reason, he was just a nervous wreck today. Now, not all days were good days, and if they were then there would be something seriously wrong with Archer. You couldn’t live your life happy every single day of your life; it wasn’t how it worked. People who were overly happy deserved to have something taken away from them. Apparently Archer had been too happy with his life back home as his family was taken away from him as penance. With Tessa, Archer was the happiest he had been in a long time, and during those precious golden light hours it had shown on his face. It had shown the effect she’d had on him through the twinkle in his eyes, and the joy he displayed on the way he walked, a bounce in his step. However when he wasn’t with his best friend, Archer was either a) a nervous wreck like today b) angry at the world c) sad at everything or d) a mixture of any of those. Today wasn’t any different. 

But the scent of cinnamon came to his nostrils, and Archer took a deep breath in. The smell reminded him of homemade gingerbread cookies that his mom used to make for them during christmas. Cinnamon was full of good memories, of him and Landon cutting out little men from the dough and placing them on the tray, of one of them not listening to their mother and eating the leftover dough anyways and getting sick, of burning their little chubby fingers on the tray just as it came out of the oven. Cinnamon was the scent of nostalgia for Archer Thrush, and he was almost instantly at peace. All nervous ticks the demigod had once possessed now just dissolved like salt into water, leaving no trace evidence on the surface. For the first time that morning the boy was at peace, and it was all thanks to the smell of cinnamon and the memories it brought along with it. He turned to the stranger, who now seemed very alluring and enchanting, but Archer didn’t know why. ‘Sorry. Um, that just sort of happens — those panic attack things — I’m fine now. Not that you’d worry. Why would you worry, we barely know each other? I’m Archer.’ The demigod signed quickly, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks as he did so.

The radiating heat from the hot chocolate stand almost warmed Archer up. Almost. There was still that little bit of winter air that seemed to get through no matter how many layers he put on, and no matter how great the heat source was. His cheeks were cold from the temperature, and he buried his face a little further within his jacket, smiling sheepishly. He wished he could stick his hands in his pockets, but that wasn’t possible. ‘Mathieu… That’s french, right?’ Archer didn’t know why, but he felt giddy, like he could fly or do impossible things on impossible days. ‘Dad taught me about the french. They’re perseverance is really cool.’ 

The legend stamped his feet, getting some blood flowing so they didn’t turn blue and numb with frostbite. Archer should’ve come later in the day, when it was warmer out and the lines were shorter. Something told him that he’d be there for a very long time with the strange demigod, but that wouldn’t be all that bad. Archer normally got along with everyone, and even though he sensed Mathieu’s hostile attitude towards him, he hoped they’d soon become friends. ‘That’s good. I think that’s good.’ He waited for a moment before signing again. ‘Um, I mean, not that I would do this, but you could cut in line.’