open: fauxhalla catch-all 🐎🦉🐗

[fehus]

WHO: Magnus Chase (fehus), Annabeth Chase (athnvas), Clarisse La Rue (areou), & you!
WHERE: Fauxhalla, in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah Valley National Park, Virginia.
WHEN: throughout July 🌞🌞🌞
WHAT: hwætever
WARNINGS: unrelentingly mythological teens, gay
NOTES: this is a mingle/catch-all; tagging around is encouraged!





[Fauxhalla is many things that are hard to find, for most living across the imPort cities; remote, natural, comforting, magical, and often surrounded by small, discreet piles of deer shit. the house, nestled high in a large ash tree in Shenandoah Valley, is guarded by a wooden arch blooming with summer flowers, which you can easily pass through (and see) if you're expected. creaking wooden stairs zigzag up around the ash tree to a sun-spotted porch, where curling plants grow in handmade pots and a hammock swings in the breeze. the heavy oaken door to this rustic, Hook-esque home is closed, but probably not to you, for whatever reason you find yourself here today. behind you, the forest and mountains, bursting with green summer life, stretch for miles around. there's plenty of fresh, sweet air to take in, this month of July]

[things burst with life out here, among and above the trees. what's brought you to the hallowed hall of Fauxhalla, hero?]

Comments

double demigod birthday { july 12th-ish }

[athnvas]

[ the sun takes some time to set the night of the 12th, setting over the horizon, back behind the mountains. in an open, gentle field somewhere far from the riots and chaos off the cities, some preparations have been made. most specifically, a large (nearly 10 feet high) bonfire, and a few smaller fires dotted throughout the field. there are logs, hammocks, and chairs set around them. it feels very inviting, comfortable, warm - something like a summer camp bonfire would be, for those who are familiar. there's music coming from somewhere (thanks apollo), and people walking around.

there's a large table with snacks and food (anything you could roast over a fire, specifically) piled almost unnecessarily high. even if mr. d wasn't here, there is an almost grecian spirit to the party. everyone is welcome to do what they like - sit around and tell stories, enjoy each other's company, eat and drink to your heart's content - the main thing that seems to be asked of any of the guests invited is that they enjoy themselves!

it's a camp halfblood style birthday, away from long island. the sky is bright with stars, the air smells like a campfire, and the air is light. ]

annabeth. open!

[athnvas]

[ the big thing about the night is that annabeth will feel...calm? calm enough to actually let her guard down. she seems in her element, comfortable and familiar, as she carries around a goblet-looking cup, checking in on the people she's invited, laughing at the jokes or shenanigans some of the other kids get up to. she looks relaxed, like she's having a good time, and while that's not unheard of, it feels a little different here.

she misses the whole camp a little, but instead of thinking about it too much, she dives a little further into the party. into the conversation, into the people she has around her. there may be a few she doesn't recognize - it's lester's party just as much as her's, but there is still something a bit. nice. about having enough people to call on for something like this, even if it was something as simple as this kind of party. there's food, there's fire, and there are friends, and she's pretty okay with that for now.

it's still a warm night, and she's in a short pair of jean shorts an a loose, flowing white top. she has her hair tied over into a loose braid over her shoulder. she's in an exceptionally good mood, so feel free to come up and approach her! ]

[areou]

( it's a bit later in the evening, as things are starting to wind down a little, that clarisse finds annabeth and leads her a ways from the rest of the remaining party goers on the pretense that it's important. and it is, for the most part, but it also has a lot to do with the fact that clarisse doesn't want this particular exchange to be public. they've always been more private like that, anyway. and clarisse can't be seen doing something thoughtful in front of other people, it would ruin her image.

once they're out of earshot, she produces the item she was holding behind her back. it isn't wrapped except in a piece of cloth, loosely tied with a bit of string. the weight and the shape of it give away what it is fairly easily, but it's the detail that went into it that makes it special. )

Don't say anything, just open it.

( yeah yeah clarisse giving someone a present what a surprise. )

Re: annabeth. open!

[fehus]

[Magnus presents the birthday girl with a properly woodland birthday crown, dropping it onto blond locks from behind. he steps around her with a shy smile, as one or two petals are jostled with the motion and drop onto her shoulders and into her hand]

Happy birthday, cuz. [he's holding another present, tucked against his chest, squareish and wrapped in newspaper. he looks bright and nervous and pleased; the party seems like what Annabeth wanted, which is the most important thing] How's it feel to be the older, older, older cousin?

[sanguinespell]

[nico has, for once, made some kind of acquiescence to climate. a thin flannel over a minimalist pentagram crop top, some dark shorts and a long pair of fishnets. her hair is simply tied back into a loose bun for a change.]

Hey. [she's got a small present, in dark paper and a silver ribbon.] Looks like all this is going well?

[lesterzeppelin]

[ During a lull in the party, Lester approaches her by one of the smaller bonfires with his guitar slung across his back and a small, messily-wrapped silver present in his hands. Given who he is, music still plays from nearby, and the atmosphere itself seems to shift with a pleasant warmth. ]

Hey, birthday girl. [ He beams, clearly proud of his attempt to wrap his rectangle book-shaped present. ] We really should've had a table or something for these, huh?

[burger_king]

[ Jughead has no intention of staying long — he's just spent a week and a half driving up and down the east coast, crammed in a car with a handful of his closest friends. Socialising is the last thing he wants, especially since he's not the biggest fan of birthdays as it is but it is for Annabeth and he did pick something up for her.

He finds her in the crowd, greets her with a warm if a little bit weary smile. ]

Hey. Happy Birthday.

lester } ota

[lesterzeppelin]

[ After four millennia, Apollo's lost count of his true age. Four thousand, six hundred... something? The number's an unimportant detail, anyway. Birthdays are meant to be celebrated, to remember just how much the people here matters to him. He's dressed comfortably in a Apollo NASA t-shirt, dark-washed jeans, and sandals that almost seem to slip off his feet. While he mingles with the crowd, even those he doesn't recognize, he's equally content to sit by one of the smaller bonfires with a guitar borrowed from his music store.

For a night, he forgets about his vow to the River Styx as he hums along to a familiar tune. He sits cross-legged by one of the bigger bonfires, changing songs at the request of his guests. Don't like a tune? Shout out a song, and as if by magic, he'll play it, regardless of culture or familiarity. (Even if it is Wonderwall.)

Each bonfire seems to have its own melody, determined by the mood of the people chatting, and always soft enough to carry on a proper conversation. Once his fingers grow too tired to keep strumming, he wanders towards the food, piling his plate high with marshmallows and dark chocolate squares (and okay, maybe some slices of pizza because a guy's gotta eat).

When it grows closer to midnight, though, he wanders towards the edge of the party, watching fireflies circle around him - and rather than capturing them, he simply lets them dance along the edges of his fingertips. The music around him is far more melancholy, as if he's thinking of a place far, far away.

Regardless of where you catch him, he feels happy - probably the happiest he's been since he was turned mortal. ]

[topmeup]

[Max couldn't not go to his boyfriend's pseudo-birthday bonfire. So of course he's there, trying not to crowd Lester too much, but also not denying that he just wants to hang out with him. Lester was his friend before he was his boyfriend--boyfriends just get dibs on being cheesy and romantic.

So he slinks his way over to Lester as he skins the edge of the party. This just won't do. Being off by himself while everyone else is having a good time? That can't happen while Max is around. So he comes up behind easily, quietly, and then says]

Looking like that, someone might think you wanted to be alone. At your birthday party.

bonfire music

[fehus]

[Magnus, in his stupid orange sharpie-written CHB shirt, can't help but laugh at the choice of music, when he sits down to listen and eat. he's got a fairly large stack of hot dogs on his plate, that he's eating bunless, dipping them in various sauces he's procured from somewhere]

My mom loved that song. I, an idiot, thought I was too cool for the Beatles. [an eyeroll, at himself. his face softens a bit, though, thinking back on it. he doesn't talk about his mom much, but for some reason parent stuff is... easier, with Lester, who kind of gets both sides of it]

Now I guess I kinda know why she loved it, though. [and it wasn't for the Beatles, though Natalie Chase did also defend them to her idiot son]

[fource]

[If there's one thing that Quatre loves, it's being around happy friends. And music. And pieces of nature that he's not used to experiencing back home, like fireflies. Honestly, this party has a lot of things going for it.

He doesn't want to interrupt, especially not as the music turns more nostalgic, and there's something peaceful about just listening in the dark as fireflies light up around them. But happiness is especially contagious for Quatre, and he knows he's not going to be imposing when he reaches his hands out to cup around a firefly, relaxed but delighted.]

We didn't have fireflies on my colony. [He shoos the firefly back over towards Lester, to let it join the others.] It's really beautiful, isn't it?

[areou]

( is apollo her favorite god? not a chance. but she will admit he plays a mean guitar. that's literally his Thing, it would be pretty sad if he didn't. it's still weird (and mostly hilarious) to see him stuck in a teenager's body, but for one night maybe she'll lay off (most of) the insults, considering it's his birthday or something. do gods really have birthdays? sure, they were all born (or came into existence) at some point, but who was really keeping track? anyway, it's a celebration. she can be mature. for the most part. )

Pretty on the nose, Your Sunship. ( the song, she means. be more obvious, apollo. nevertheless, she sits down next to him with a beer in hand. don't ask where she got it. ) Why not go for "Good Day Sunshine"?

...AND MAGNUS ✺ ota

[fehus]

[one of these things is not like the other, one these things just doesn't belong: among the Greeks is your friendly neighborhood Norse corpse, Magnus Chase. in honour of the birthday boy and girl, he's wearing an orange t-shirt with C-H-B scribbled onto it in Sharpie marker (he tried). he's tried to keep his paws off the party, letting the Greeks take the lead on recreating their home on the Long Island Sound, but there's a few Magnus touches about the place anyway -- drinking horns leftover from other parties for punch and booze, an interested prevalence of wild (herbivore) animals ringing the campsite, and of course Fauxhalla itself, looming over the campfire and wreathed in fireflies]

[at the beginning of the party, Magnus sits a bit shyly apart at first, feeding a large flock of birds, drawn by the appearance of so many damn graham crackers. while Magnus had intended to make some s'mores for every (human-shaped being) to enjoy, he's now involved in a back and forth with a large variety of Virginian birds, house and gold finches, red-winged blackbirds, and blue jays. he's breaking apart graham crackers not quite fast enough for his guests, and a few of them have come to perch on his shoulders and head, twittering requests and comments to him]

I know, I know you didn't get any yet -- there's no reason to name call. I've got a bunch of boxes, I promise. -- Hey. Let her have some, she's half the size of you?

[as the bonfire flares higher and the night draws on, Magnus will reluctantly draw close to the campfire, because as much as he's talked smack about the weird kumbaya nature of CHB, he can never snub a good campfire. he'll even request the sing-a-long portion of the night get started, nudging the person next to him to show him how it's done]

Well? Skald if you're gonna skald.

[and by the end of the night, Magnus has loosened up some more and is enjoying the music, dancing near the fire with his sword Jack and laughing along to Jack's terrible rendering of Johnny Cash's greatest hits]

Why would it be a wyrming thing? Dude, no. Love is a burnin' thing --

b i r d s

[areou]

( it's probably strange to see clarisse wearing anything other than baggy t-shirts and combat boots, but it's like she's actually made an effort tonight (and then immediately ruined it), maybe in an attempt to impress a certain birthday girl or maybe because it's fucking hot. she'll never tell. just pretend like this is all totally normal. you know, like all those fucking birds. )

Okay, Cinderella. Where's your fairy godmother?

[Pale Maiden, OTA]

[compostabelle]

[ anyway the next time Magnus goes to his compost heap there's like a corpse or something face down on it ]

1/2

[fehus]

[Magnus doesn't see this corpse at first, because Magnus is an Internal kind of boy. he's thinking his thinky thoughts, and as usual just sort of flings a bunch of vegetable peelings, coffee grounds, fruit cores and peels, and the usual manner of compostables over the second stair railing of Fauxhalla (halfway down, to avoid having another Squash Over the Top Railing Incident)]

[he pauses, after. thinks, didn't the compost heap look a little...full? did Clarisse dump something that didn't belong in there?]

2/3

[fehus]

[Magnus looks over the railing.]

Re: [Pale Maiden, OTA]

[fehus]

[Magnus regrets looking over the railing.]

Oooh shit? Oh fuck. Oh shit?

[he should probably do something besides swear. he jumps over the railing, landing with easy einherjar grace. less graceful is his stumble to instantly dig his hands into the rotting compost pile to try and turn the corpse over. who the fuck is this dead person that's not him?]

Re: [Pale Maiden, OTA]

[compostabelle]

[ OH GOD, IT'S HIDEOUS, SHE'S ROTTING AND- oh, no, that's just some week old red kale on her face. Her eyes fly open, and then her mouth, and then she makes the sound of a thousand hissing cockroaches. ]

night after bday party - fauxhalla, closed to magnus and annabeth.

[athnvas]

[ part of her knew it before she even woke up. a kind of lack, a kind of open hole in her chest. she sits up in bed quick enough for her head to spin a bit, before looking around. it was still her bedroom, yes, but it was different. things were missing. the next check was her phone, the network, the names.

and then she that lack was there, once again, annabeth sits alone in her bed. scrolls over the names that should be there once, then twice. tries to go back into her history, tries clicking his name, and nothing.

she takes one breath, and then two, before slowly sliding herself off the bed and quietly making her way out the door and across the hall. part of her thinks about knocking, but magnus' door is ajar anyway, so instead she just slips in. he's sleeping, and a voice in the back of her head reminds her of the way he'd tensed when she'd hugged him after he came back, but something about that hole, the cold, the pain slowly building behind her eyes, pushes her into his room and under the large comforter he's not even really using.

then annabeth pauses, closing her eyes tightly as she pulls the comforter around her and tells herself just to breathe. ]

[fehus]

[Magnus is dreaming, fitful. in his dream, everything in Vanaheim is too bright to see, even for him. his aunt's upside-down viking ship palace looms in the distance, but the closer he gets, the more the notices the gold wood chipping apart, blowing away in the breeze. closer still, suddenly, that sharp dream movement, and the love boat isn't a love boat, it's -- human nails. it's always fucking human nails. Magnus keeps closing his eyes in the dream (and isn't it actually Alfheim, where the sun is too bright, even for the son of summer?) and every time he does, the boat flips positions (upside-down, gold, rightside-up, grey). the wind picks up, carrying more flakes of gold leaf that become flakes of ash and hard, razor-sharp keratin scales, and all of it gets in his eyes and he can't see which way the boat is sitting -- ]

[someone is in his room. Magnus forces his eyes open but stays absolutely still (an old instinct). his heart beats rapidly as he shifts between an uncertain, anxious dream and an uncertain, anxious reality. confused about what's real, he scratches his fingers across his eyes once, hard, as if to clear them of ash and shards. after that he locates the intruder quickly, a tumble of bright hair just below his arm. Freyja? his mind supplies, caught between two realities and more realms. no, his waking mind asserts. Annabeth. Annabeth is in his room. the same feeling as being unable to see the boat comes back to him, panic and disorientation; something is wrong with Annabeth]

Hey. [his voice is thick with sleep, however restless it'd been] Annabeth? What is it?

pre-percy port-out - fauxhalla, closed to magnus and annabeth.

[fehus]

[theoretically, Magnus doesn't have to put their clothes out to dry. he could just use a bit of his sunshine-y summer seidr, and have it done with in a matter of minutes. but doing the math, using his divine powers for laundry during the summer seemed like a waste of energy (and a little gauche, besides). not to mention it would be the loss of the perfectly calming summer ritual of putting their wet things out on the line across the deck of Fauxhalla]

[again, er, in theory. the line was installed with the house, and it was enough space for Alex and Magnus, but now with Clarisse and Annabeth and Percy and Magnus, clothes have had to be laid out across the railings, across the backs of chairs and the edges of tables, and up the stairs leading to the roof, where Magnus keeps meaning to put a second line up, and never gets around to it]

[theoretically, a second line would be helpful. but he's feeling that putting it up might be futile, today: they'd had an extremely windy morning, and the trail of clothes he'd forgotten to take in last night (he'd gotten wrapped up in the end of a book {again}), is now strewn in the surrounding woods. from where he's standing on the roof, he can see one of Clarisse's sports bras hanging off a nearby pine, and his own t-shirt a little lower down the same tree. the grass below is littered with blue (Percy) and white (Annabeth) and flannel, flannel, flannel (him and Clarisse)]

[first thing's first. Magnus takes a running start at the tree, feet banging noisily on the roof as he leaps off the very peak of Fauxhalla towards it]

[athnvas]

[ annabeth is just now making it home from work - lost in thought as she steps through the gate and closes it behind her, walking through the grass with little regard to what is around her due to both familiarity and other priorities. it's why she doesn't notice magnus at first, or the clothes spread out across the valley. why she doesn't think to maybe try and pick some up as she goes, just to make her trip efficient.

instead, she keeps her head down, her mind occupied. thoughts and ideas and recent revelations whirlpooling around and around and around. it's not until she's about thirty feet from fauxhalla itself that she hears the sound of echoing footsteps, a tap tap tap across the floorboards before there is a much louder sound - jumping, launching. it catches annabeth's attention just quick enough for her to see magnus flying through the air above her - from the rooftop to the nearby tree, and annabeth just. stops.

just for a moment. just long enough for her to process what is happening and what she's seeing, before she is sprinting inside and up the stairs. it's only a couple of minutes later before annabeth is out there herself - on the deck, not the roof - watching her cousin with a somewhat worried, somewhat confused expression. ]

You want to tell me what you're trying to do?

closed to magnus.

[areou]

( is it dangerous to burn sacrifices in a treehouse in the middle of the woods? probably. but fire hazards barely cross her mind, and not just because she rarely follows safety rules. this time of day is always strangely personal, despite all her intentions to throw the middle finger to the gods and forget about sacrifices altogether. it's complicated. it's not exactly worship, not exactly putting the gods on a pedestal, even if there is a literal pedestal involved. it's just ... ritual. tradition. something she's been doing since she was just a kid and did worship her dad, because he made her strong and tough and better than all the other girls.

then she met him and realized she would never be good enough, even when she was at her best.

so it's not for him that she does it, not exactly. it's for her, she tells herself, because this is her heritage and she can't run away from that. she accepted that the moment she killed her first monster. ares is part of her, but he isn't who she is. she doesn't need his blessing anymore. she doesn't need anything from him. and it took her a long time to realize that. frankly, she's still realizing that, even while she does this. she may not entirely respect her dad, but he is still her dad. and that's what the sacrifice is, ultimately. thanks for nothing, dad, this is the least i could do.

(that, and she's seen what that bitterness can do to a person. she saw it happen to luke, how it destroyed him. she thinks too often, with the right push, it could have been her.)

follow the strong scent of bacon and you'll find her in her room standing over her altar, looking uncharacteristically pensive. she mutters something in ancient greek as red smoke wafts toward the ceiling. she won't set the treehouse on fire, promise. or, if she does, you can blame ares. )

[fehus]

[in this weather, Magnus is much more often outside the house than inside it; but there comes a time when even the crunchiest son of summer rolls back inside to enjoy magic air conditioning (or however Ronan's dreamed the place, to keep it the appropriate temperatures) and play video games, like a real American boy]

[he notices the red smoke eventually, and his character dies as he's distracted by it. it doesn't look like fire-smoke, it looks like some magic bullshit. which is usually fine in this, the magic treehouse, but he's never seen that exact shade of magic bullshit before, here]

[Magnus gets to his feet, his pace quickening when he realises where the red smoke is coming from]

Clarisse? Are you -- [okay, he doesn't finish, because she appears fine. Magnus hasn't been in Clarisse's room much (or ever), after their fateful trip to Ikea, and some major changes have taken place. the altar she's standing at, for one]