running out into the park // open [EVENT]

Both children of Benjamin Crane had been almost equally talented in their own ways. Tessa was great at being very adaptable and sewing. But, Simon supposed, she had to be when you were a woman living on the verge of war, that just wasn’t an option. A woman must be adaptable in the ways of the world, because her life could change in an instant. Her husband could be shot down or hit by a stray mortar shell and never be heard from again. Her children could be snatched from her breasts, still innocent and detached from the cruelties of the world, and enlisted for the army. Homes burned down because of out-of-control fires, everybody died, and sometimes you weren’t great at cooking. So what. You adapted, everyone did. Simon just thought Tessa was more lucky than most because she was able to see that and do what she needed to to get through life. Even if that meant that today she was letting go of most of their English culture in the very early 20th century, and even if Simon was less than thrilled about that, he knew that Tessa was getting by. He admired his big sister because of that reason. In time maybe he would learn to forgive and forget what Tessa was doing and what she had done. Sometimes when the demigod lay down in his bunk, imagining the sea of waving emerald grass back on the farm, he’d think of what little fun times he and his sister had together, and realised how he was disgracing the entire family. Simon had often thought about apologising, really apologising, but it never happened. 

Instead, he was sitting comfortably on the ground, his back leaning up against Thalia’s tree. The golden fleece that protected the camp hung above him, the fibrous ends tickling the boy’s scalp, tawny and flaxen mixing to create molten gold with the help of the sun. Despite it being winter, and despite Simon absolutely detesting the cold like he detested most things, he found today to be really quite lovely out. The air had an aureate scent to it, like spring was getting impatient already and trying to push through the air, trying to hard and to fast to get some recognition. The sky was a beautiful bright blue and not a cloud in sight, her only companion the shining sun above her, its rays twinkling down onto the ground like fallen feathers. The nip of winter wasn’t that bad today, which had prompted Simon to only wear a light jacket with his usual attire. His knees were hiked up towards his chest, the drawing pad he’d owned for many years balanced on his thighs. By the way that the demigod held such a thing, you could tell he was very possessive over it. Anything that was in there was Simon’s and Simon’s alone. No one, not his father, not his sister, not his nanny or dog or cat or chicken, had ever laid eyes on it. Inside were various sketches, and anybody with eyes could see that this boy had talent in the field of paper and pencil. 

Currently he was drawing the horizon of trees blending into the brightness of blue sky. They didn’t blend well, and where one stopped the other began abruptly, making it look like a patchy and almost too vibrant patchwork quilt. It was about midday, and although Simon would have much preferred to be sketching during a sunset, he wasn’t a fool. There had been rumours, nothing more and nothing less (though one tended to always be more cautious when rumours were being spread; human nature.), about monster the likes of which anyone had never seen before, had started to invade the outskirts of the camp. Tessa was very adaptable to her surroundings, whereas Simon just tended to dive in head first without even bothering to check for the warning signs of danger. This was one of those times. Being so far away from everybody else, even when on a sunny day like this, was stupid and bullheaded. But Simon needed to draw. 

Simon continued to draw, every so often glancing up at the skyline to make sure he’d gotten the sway of a tree just right, or that the lighting was perfect on this corner. Simon started to hum an old english folk song under his breath, and it wasn’t good, nor was it bad. The boy couldn’t become an opera singer, that was for sure, but he also wouldn’t have to worry about his children running away in fear and terror when he opened his mouth. Still, with all the distractions going on, the drawing and the singing, Simon still couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone, or something was watching him from behind the nearby bushes.