Twists of Fate ((Dante PG13))

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Twists of Fate ((Dante PG13))

Post by Guest on Thu Apr 18, 2013 12:15 am

Kris stood outside the gates of the Roman cabin, holding her breath without meaning to. She want to talk to Elijah… the daughter of Eris needed to talk to him, but he was always busy with his duties. Kris finally gasped for breath, her face slightly red. The daughter of Eris had spent days building the courage to get this far and she was really close to having an anxiety attack. This was another scar Jespice had left her with. Kris had never been so terrified of someone in her life. What if she ran into Jespice in the Roman camp? What would she do? Was there anything she could do? Kris was holding her breath on accident again. Her palms were sweaty and she was bouncing up and down nervously. Other demigods had passed by already and they had all given Kris strange looks. Even if they weren’t weirded out by the fact that she was acting so strangely, her celestial bronze arm caught everyone’s eyes. That was the biggest thing Jespice had taken from the daughter of Eris, her dominant hand, her right arm. The son of Cupid had taken so many things that night in the forest… but when Kris had been asked who had done this she had remained quiet. The daughter of Eris didn’t know why, but something was keeping her from telling. Something in Kris’s gut said it was because she wanted revenge… but the Roman camp was strict, Jespice would surely be punished accordingly for attacking her. Plus Elijah was Praetor, he would be furious. Kris bit her lip hard. Maybe she wanted revenge for herself. That would be a different kind of satisfaction. The daughter of Eris looming over the son of Cupid, uttering the words he had attacked her with, finishing with ‘an eye for an eye’ and take his arm herself. Kris shuddered. Those were not good thoughts to be thinking. Doing that would make her no better than Jespice. The demigod took in a deep breath and put one foot forward. She’d tell Elijah, get this whole thing over with and behind her. Jespice would be dealt with and Kris wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Her metal finger twitched, its little gears spinning and whirring, barely audible.

The daughter took a few more steps, entering the Roman camp with forced confidence. Where was the Principia again? Kris had never been there before… how many times had she even been in the Roman camp? Once? The daughter of Eris was tense once more, her hands tugging at the edge of her torn orange camp half-blood t-shirt. She stood out like a sore thumb, but the old thing made the daughter of Eris much more comfortable. Kris had gotten the oversized shirt her first day of camp. Now it was falling apart, the edge was so torn that you could almost see her pale stomach. The right side of it was blood stained from when Jespice attacked her. Both sleeves were missing and there were some burn marks on it to. The lettering was so faded it couldn’t be read anymore. By some miracle it was still orange. Kris looked around at the waves of purple and armor. The daughter of Eris kept having to remind herself to breath as she pushed her way through camp. Where was she? There really should be a map somewhere… Kris grumbled. She’d ask Elijah for one if she ever found him. The daughter of Eris loved her brother to death, but he was very short and hard to find… people were towering over Kris and she could barely see around them.

Where was the Principia??? If Kris had any courage left she would have just asked someone where it was. Kris looked around uneasy. Why did she have to become so cowardly? Just the thought of Jespice running into her made Kris mad and scared at the same time. She wanted to punch him in the face with her metal hand at the same time she wanted to run back to her cabin. More nervous mumbling. The daughter of Eris shoved her hands into her pockets. She had come unarmed, which seemed like a good idea at her cabin, but now Kris wished she had it just for comfort. Sure there was always a little part of her weapon, Arodex with her. Wyatt had taken some of the enchanted metal and fused it into Kris’s right arm. The whole thing had been experimental and the metal probably lost its enchantment when Wyatt put it into her arm, but it was still a thoughtful thing for Wyatt to do. Kris glanced around again… inevitably the daughter of Eris had made a complete loop around the Roman camp. She wasn’t even sure if she had passed the Principia or not. Kris did a face palm. Why was she so bad at finding things? The daughter of Eris had been born with no sense of direction at all. Her hand slid down her face and she groaned as a thought hit her. Kris could have just tried to sense Elijah’s chaos radiation. That’s how Galen and Kris found each other at camp, they never decided on meeting places. Mentally kicking herself Kris started walking around the Roman camp for the second time.

The daughter of Eris was instantly hit with the problem that she was radiating so much she couldn’t sense anything but her own chaos. No matter how hard Kris tried she couldn’t think of a way to calm herself down… everything about that day was extremely frustrating. Kris had half a mind to just give up and find Elijah another day, but she knew if she left now she’d never willingly go back. The daughter of Eris didn’t have many friends among the Romans. They didn’t bother her and Kris didn’t try to bother them. The only reason she had connections to the Roman camp was because of her siblings over there and now one of them was gone. Kris started radiating even more. Luthien. Where was her Roman sister? The daughter of Eris agreed with Elijah, Luthien wasn’t dead. Kris refused to believe that. She was just lost… somewhere on the Earth. If Kris knew where she’d travel to the depths of Tartarus to get her sister back, she didn’t care about the monsters. Kris’s hands tighten into fists. She would get Luthien back… she would see her sister again one way or another and whoever had caused her pain would suffer.

The daughter of Eris forced herself to take some deep breaths. She needed to calm down and focus. Where was Elijah? Where was his chaos? Focus…. Kris cleared her mind, but nothing really happened. Chaos existed everywhere and Kris didn’t have a talent for picking out a particular one… Galen was usually the one who found her anyway; she just helped by going to the same places. There was another wave of frustration and Kris took a step forward, her real arm brushing against someone. The hairs on the back of Kris’s neck stood on end and she spun around, looking at the person she had accidentally bumped into. Instant chaos radiating. Kris’s heart rate soared and she held her breath. With a quick look the daughter of Eris could tell that it wasn’t Jespice, but it wasn’t Elijah either. Her body relaxed a hair as she looked the boy up and down. He was taller and older then Kris and he looked like he really needed to get some sleep. Kris bit her lip as she looked at his very serious expression. Was he mad at her? Should she apologize for running into him? The daughter of Eris wasn’t really sure what to do at this point. An awkward silence hung in the air. Kris really didn’t like it… she mumbled something under her breath. The boy was Roman so he should know where Elijah was or at least where the Principia was.

The older boy’s expression was worrying Kris. Suddenly she couldn’t think of a way to form her question. All the daughter of Eris needed to say was “hello, could you point me in the direction of the Principia?”, but now that she actually had to do it Kris had seemed to forget how to form words. That was frustrating and slightly embarrassing. How could she forget something so simple? More of the awkward silence hung in the air along with Kris’s chaos. She didn’t like this type of situation; she didn’t do well in these moments. She could apologize. She could introduce herself. She could just ask where Elijah was. She waits for the other boy to say something. She could ask where the Principia were. There were so many things Kris could do that she couldn’t do anything. The daughter of Eris shifted her weight foot to foot. What if the other boy didn’t say anything and they just stood there for eternity? “You… I… I ran into you.” Kris stuttered and instantly wanted to crawl under a rock and die. The daughter of Eris had only managed to state the obvious. The other boy probably thought she was an idiot. “I-I’m Kristaria, I’m from the Greek side of camp” she managed to add, but her voice was weak. This was going to be a long day.


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Re: Twists of Fate ((Dante PG13))

Post by Guest on Tue Apr 30, 2013 7:00 am

A volte, Dante, non vi resta che immergersi in Non avere paura, perché il tuo italiano ancora non è perfetto. L'unico modo per farlo perfetto è quello di immergersi.
Non ho paura, Beatrice-
Voglio dire, tu parli perfettamente con me. Perché sei così paura di avventurarsi fuori un po '? A meno che non è la barriera linguistica...
Io proprio non mi piace la gente. La gente mi danno fastidio. La gente mi spaventano. Le persone sono così cattivo e...I don't know the word in Italian, Beatrice...
Ti sbagli, Dante. Semantica. Non ti piacciono gli americani. E 'diverso in Italia, a Firenze. Le persone sono più belli, sono più gentile. Non hai nulla da temere.

A memory of an old conversation resurfacing. Non hai nulla da temere. Words, words Beatrice had spoken to Dante so long ago. Except it couldn't have been too long ago. Either way, the boy figured he might actually try to apply them to his current predicament. His former flatmate and friend had seemed to know him better than he knew himself a lot of the time, and the woman's advice was making just as much sense here as it had in Firenze. This was a tricky one, though. Beatrice told him he had nothing to be afraid of, but Dante wasn't sure that was true. There was, in fact, so much to be afraid of. Something following him everywhere, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. People...people he didn't know. All around him, people to be afraid of. The eyes...the eyes always on him.

Even as Dante walked through Camp Jupiter, the boy felt himself curl in. Even with shoulders slumped, he was taller than most of the other Romans. Though the boy wasn't sure it mattered at this point. He was being followed, as usual...something...something that kept itself invisible. Because there were people around now, and no one else seemed to notice it. Perhaps it would only be visible to Dante, though the boy didn't dare turn around. Being followed...always being followed. Even with all these people around in the middle of the day. Picking up his pace a bit, Dante kept his shoulders slumped and his eyes on the ground. Deep breaths...the boy had to breathe. A constant battle with himself...what was the point of continuing to live like this? How long would the boy be able to keep this up? Would death take him before he embraced it...or would it fall somewhere between the lack of sleep and loss of appetite? At least the boy was trying these days. Some days, anyway. Dante was averaging two or three hours of sleep a night...four if he was lucky. Sometimes he could eat a bit at meals. But he rarely had an appetite anymore. The boy supposed he had his good days and bad days like anyone else. Although the good days weren't exactly what most people would consider good. Whatever worked. Walking a bit faster, breathing a bit shallower. Where was he going? Fourth Cohort barracks. His "home". Where had he come from? The boy couldn't even remember. Somewhere. Something was following and he had to keep going. Keep moving. Try to forget he was being followed. How could Dante forget that? He was always being followed.

Fourth Cohort barracks...somehow, Dante was starting to feel more an home there. He didn't mind that he was in a small space with lots of people, and he hadn't had much interaction with them. Beatrice's voice in his ear...Persone, Dante, amico mio. Non c'è bisogno di avere paura della gente. Se raggiungono fuori, far loro. Non spingere via. Sei bravo a spingere la gente lontana, non è vero? Always good at pushing people away. Even in Fresno, when Dante had "friends"...was "popular"...nobody really knew him. Of course, how could they know him when he didn't even know himself. At twelve, the boy had become an Antoinette, but he knew he really wasn't. He loved his mom and dad, but they weren't really his mom and dad. How would the boy ever find out who his real parents were. He had heard lots of talk of claimings, discoveries of your parent. One parent. Sometimes an explanation about the other. If Dante was claimed (some people said it could take years, and Dante wasn't sure he'd even be here in years), would he get some answers. A God or Goddess mother or father. Would they tell him about his mortal mother or father? Would they say anything about the presence always behind him? The Antoinettes? Beatrice? Gods...the boy's head was swimming. Sometimes the whole thing was difficult for Dante to grasp. A God or Goddess parent...a half-blood. People seemed to know more about Dante than he knew about himself. A breeze and Beatrice's voice in his ear...Un giorno si saprà la verità, Dante. C'è così tanto da dire...avete affrontato molto e si faccia di più. Ma in un attimo, si impara. Beatrice wasn't there, but her voice was so clear...the boy was losing his grasp on lucidity again. "Lasciami in, Beatrice," Dante mumbled. Her voice was sad...why was the girl with the sun in her hair so sad? "A meno che tu in realtà sei qui con me, voglio che tu mi lasci!" the boy said a bit louder. Beatrice was laughing now. Laughing with happiness? Laughing at Dante's loosening grip on reality again? Who...someone bumped into him. The boy didn't like being touched at all, even the slightest bump. Outbursts of fear and anger in Italian or a panic attack. Always. If he opened his mouth, he screamed. And something was making it worse, something coming from the girl. Jumping, shaking, face stolid as he looked at the girl.

The girl stared at him for a moment. Dante stared back...he had never seen the girl around before, and she wore an orange t-shirt. At this point, even though the words on the shirt were fading, the boy had figured out that Greeks wore orange t-shirts. Romans were purple ones. This girl was a Greek camper and she was making his panic even worse than it was. He had an inner battle raging, terrified, but his face remained deadly serious. Something was still following him, and the girl was intensifying the feeling. Dante was scared. Beyond scared. And losing his grasp on reality even quicker than before. The girl spoke, stating that she had run into him. The boy nodded slightly so she knew he had heard her, but he didn't dare open his mouth...he wasn't sure what would come out...terrified, slurred Italian? Screams of terror? He didn't know, so he didn't open his mouth. An introduction...Kristaria. What an interesting name! Dante wondered where it came from. And yes, from the Greek side of camp. Dante Antoinette...always an observer. It was what had made him such a great debater when he was one. Moments of victory before starting down the slippery slope. A well liked boy, a popular boy...a boy who was going places. Well the boy certainly wasn't going places anymore. Hell, he didn't even know who he was anymore. Losing his grasp, Beatrice's laughter in his ear. Words...find some words! "Dante Antoinette," the boy finally mumbled. "Though I am not sure I am an Antoinette any longer. Kristaria...what brings you here?" forced words...Dante was still trying not to scream, trying not to shake so damn hard.
Tu dici che non hai mai avuto paura del palcoscenico, Dante...e allora perché hai paura di parlare così tanto?
Non possono parlare di nuovo sul palco. E se lo fanno, ho semplicemente dimostrare quanto male sono.

((Hi! I'm Google Translate! I know we haven't met yet, but you'll be needing me if you keeping hanging out with Dante. Translations aren't always perfect, because I suck, but Zoé uses me anyway. Have fun, kiddo!))


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