inomnibus

[inomnibus]

ianxcartwright​:

To say Ian had been surprised to run into Moira Hardwicke of all people, and at the hospital no less, would’ve been an understatement. Compounded to the fact that he’d stayed in contact with few from Camp Half-Blood over the years, he was thoroughly surprised, enough to temporarily forget the man who’d been brought in by Moira. Especially since seeing her in a paramedic uniform was almost jarring considering he’d run out to the archery fields more than once for someone who’d unexpectedly caught an arrow from the daughter of Athena. 

He’d never been great at making friends, but he’d always been kind to people, always been friendly. Even to the woman now seated across from him at the coffee shop, despite her seemingly hardened exterior. He recalled how he’d been better friends with others from her cabin than he’d ever been with her. In fact, he could place barely a handful of conversations between them during their time at camp. It wasn’t something to hold against someone, just a fact. But Ian was always looking for something –- connections, maybe, that anchored him to this side of reality, this realm and the chance to catch up with someone was one he hadn’t turned down.

Laughing slightly at the comment, Ian lifted his shoulders in a shrug, unfurling the scarf around his neck. New York may not have descended into the bitter cold of winter yet but it was cold enough to turn the city into a wind tunnel. He stuffed the black material into his coat pocket and shook his head, hands wrapping around his mug for the warmth. “Does it have to be either or?” he smiled at her, brows scrunching together a bit. “Maybe I don’t like people that much and enjoy helping poor unfortunate souls. What about you? Do you enjoy not having a normal schedule like the rest of the world?” He glanced down at the mug, at the smoke piping up from the black coffee before returning his gaze to hers, “never would’ve guessed you’d be a paramedic, Hardwicke.” 

-

      “ no, the two are not mutually exclusive. ” she lifted the mug to her lips and swallowed a mouthful of warm, too-sugary coffee. it’s how she always took it ---either black with nothing or with cream and more sugar than was really necessary. no in-between. “ i do enjoy being on an opposite schedule from everyone else. it fulfills my internal desire to avoid as many human beings as possible, and all of the awkward questions and conversation that comes along with it. ” and that was always true of her. back in camp half-blood she stuck to the walls, the dark corners, and watched. she’d had no desire to make connections, to pour her soul out and gush about how extra neato it was to be the kid of a god. strange. her mind was too skeptical for that, even with the proof coursing through her veins. she wondered if athena admired her daughter’s wilfullness or detested it.

      “ yeah, i don’t know. my dad wanted me to do something bigger. maybe like you? being a surgeon in the trauma ward or something. or a big corporate lawyer ... something that took brains and skill to do. not that being a paramedic doesn’t require either of those, but it was a fight to do even that. ” she’d have been content with wasting her life, her talents, if it meant keeping her individuality. even now ... even now if she thought too hard on it she imagined she was just a shell of a person ---a mold, made by athena, to do great things. that somehow the path she had taken was no different from any other of athena’s children, that she was just a copy, a little clone with a different appearance, lacking any individuality. but she’d promised her father. and if there was anyone in the world she’d loved with all of her heart ... it had been him. and now?

      moira swallowed another mouthful of coffee, mused at ian with squinted eyes as if she were taking him into more heavy consideration than she had before. gone was the appearance of the awkward boy from camp, replaced with a man who’d clearly grown into himself. his eyes were warm, comforting, though she refrained from holding their gaze too long at any given moment. why did she invite him out for coffee? give him her number? she was surprised he’d used it, agreed to come out. but thankful, all the same. “ have you been behaving, doctor cartwright? i imagine medical school has kept you busy. you look good in that setting, though. calm. like you belong in the middle of it. ”

[inomnibus]

Equilibrium, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn.

the sigh of the shifting sea, the kiss of the salt-sweet breeze. the white of her silken dress, stained in red. a memory fading fast, her mother sits - eyes downcast. a torn uniform in hand, farewells unsaid. that once in certainty, lost in grief a daughter's desperate cries, unheard pleas. forsaken, beaten, tried, on her knees a prayer passes from her lips, into her soul the goddess whispers: 'heartbeat without harmony is moonlight without dark. the heart seeketh equilibrium with balance will your worry part. so still this broken melody, and therewith shoulder thee one last step only leaving an empty hearth down by the sea.'

[inomnibus]

sonofxzeus​:

Hart felt responsible, he always had, there was something in him that had always beget the role of protectorate. From an early age he felt the need to shelter others, to encourage them, and that had not gone away when he arrived at Camp Halfblood, if anything, it only intensified. Some were more receptive than others, a few were even appreciative, he was a friend, moral support, he offered every bit of encouragement that Hart had sorely lacked from his own father. Moira fell in the category of demigods who did not care for it, in fact, she actively fought against it, and even when Hart tried to bite his tongue - that proved easier said than done. 

The fact that she reached out to him at all came as a surprise, she spent long periods of time ignoring his texts and phone calls, so when she did, Hart agreed to meet her in the park. He had a meeting that ran longer than expected and as he hurried towards Central Park Hart wondered if Moira would have gotten tired of waiting and simply taken off. 

“Moira,” Hart greeted, his smile was easy, there had been a period of time when he had worried if she would ever do anything with her many talents, the fact that she had settled into a career that was equal parts rewarding and act of service meant Hart could let up a bit. “I considered it, thought it would be fair payback.” he smiled easily and took a seat next to her, “But two wrongs something something about a right.” 

-

      she stretched in her perch, legs pushing their limits and knees popping, before she readjusted more fully. hart was always a pill. something in the way he felt it necessary to father her, as if her own pushing moira to do better with her life wasn’t enough. and she turned to face him, more favorable for a conversation she knew would wear on the thin line of her patience. he’d poke and prod, press, dig his little fingers into all of the soft spots, all of the weak points of her walls and pull and pull until he got the answers he wanted. because he cared. and moira couldn’t figure out why. “ fair payback would be you blowing me off for the next few months. but we both know you’re not going to do that. ”

      maybe would, just once, to prove her wrong. to surprise her, to twist her usually tired and bored expression into something of a wicked grin. she might as well have been the daughter of discord, not wisdom ---for all of the mischief and strife that smile of hers usually ushered. “ i figured i owed you a bone. so ... how’ve you been? i imagine you’re behaving? ” it was funny to her, if she actually thought like a demigod, that hart was so well-behaved. considering his father, the stories, all of the shit that stirred up because zeus was ... zeus ... and here hart was, one of the more well-adjusted of the lot of them, if moira had to guess. not that she kept tabs on many others ... not that she’d been able to avoid them, either.

      and asking him if he was behaving seemed redundant. he was a hard worker, he was the one who’d always set himself on the right path. it was part of the joke, part of the cheeky grin that pushed the apples of moira’s cheeks to their max, had that little glimmer in her eyes shining as if there were suns behind her gaze. “ someday i’ll work it out with you ... a deal or something. you misbehave as much as you can for one whole week, and i’ll be on my very best behavior. then we meet back at the end of the week and trade stories. ”

[inomnibus]

[inomnibus]

      location: moira’s apartment.       open to: @nadiablake​.

      “ tell me something interesting. i’ve fallen into a monotonous cycle and if i don’t get a stroke of excitement i might actually expire. ” moira handed off the cup of tea to her friend, then tucked herself onto the couch beside her, legs up and under. her own mug balanced in her lap, protected by careful fingers while she adjusted. and once she was settled she took a deep draw from it ---twining’s earl grey with a touch of milk and some sugar ... the concoction she always relied on to set immediate ease to her bones, to dowse her lids when she was ready for bed. the rare day off ---she’d happily spend it with nadia, though speaking aloud the word friend seemed to tarnish their relationship. moira was never one for labels, anyway.

      work, work out, sleep, repeat. that was where moira had slipped into, the comfortable shifts in which time of day she was working being the only thing to shift the paradigm. meeting some of the other demigods, too ---but that was a detail she’d gloss over. besides, nadia had a more exciting life as a whole ... always had a story to tell, something the two of them could roll their eyes at and pick apart with ruthless judgment. they were so catty together, so bitchy ... they fed off of one-another, and it was what moira appreciated the most about nadia. she didn’t have to gloss over her personality, didn’t have to pretend to be anyone else, just herself. and it was good enough.

[inomnibus]

      location: metropolitan museum of art.       open to: @charlottecheng​

      perhaps it was on impulse that she’d reached out to her “sibling” to meet. it was very out of character for moira, very other to attempt some sort of social interaction, outside of the vague memories of camp. she had no connection to these people. just because they shared a godly parent didn’t mean that moira honored that as relation, as any connection that was meant to give a damn. she only ever explained that she was an only child when people asked ... why should that change? but here she was, gazing up at a mural for one of the new exhibits in the art museum, allowing herself to judge the strokes and color choices as if she had a singular artistic bone in her body. perhaps it was curiosity. some morbid sense of self that wondered if anyone else struggled with their “gifts” the way she had, if they resented athena as much as she had for guiding their lives. and charlotte cheng was the first other daughter of athena that moira had remembered, or found, and reached out to.

      the museum seemed like a smart choice to meet. at the very least she could rest back on the art for conversation should she flounder, and it hardly seemed as intimate as something like coffee where nothing but the interest in the other person could guide conversation. and really, she wasn’t sure what she wanted or expected from this, but it was her bravery for the day. for the month. and so she pressed her hands into her pockets, traced the lines of the piece before her, and waited. she had very little memory of the other children of athena at camp. it was almost as if she’d blocked out a good portion of her time there, as if it were traumatic in some sense when in reality she was just that disconnected from it. but time changed her a bit, made her more open to ideas, to connections, to people. and perhaps it wasn’t too late to strike up something with someone she was meant to be related to.

[inomnibus]

      location: central park.       open to: @sonofxzeus​.

      at some point, somewhere, she’d have to gussy up and stop avoiding hart. at some point. the amount of times she’d blown him off throughout their time of reconnecting was infinite, like a mathematical equation that had no true answer, just a number that rose exponentially. there was only so much fatherly responsibility she could handle. the judgment from her own father had been long gone, eight years worth of quietly grieving and missing the man who had never questioned or second-guessed the love he had for a daughter who was other. a daughter who was a pain in the ass ... and yet hart had appeared and attempted to fill in that space in his own way. she’d never asked for it. and while the tone of laced disappointment had gotten on her nerves more often than not, moira figured she at least owed it to him to check in every now and again. and today was that day.

      while the summer heat tended to strangle more than not, the autumn chill was welcome, even if it made her don a lighter jacket. she’d shot a text to him letting him know she’d be here, waiting, to catch up for a little while. to talk about what, she had no idea, but that would come when he appeared. and for a while moira was content with watching the people meander by on their way: joggers and dog-walkers, people chatting and the snippets of conversations she got when they passed, how in their own worlds everyone seemed. there was something peaceful about it. and when she turned her head, caught sight of hart, moira shifted on the bench to make room for him. 

      “ was starting to think you were going to blow me off, for once. it would have been a nice role reversal. ”

[inomnibus]

      location: ambrosia cafe, 11am.       open to: closed for @ianxcartwright​.

      she’d worked hard to separate her life from the period of time she’d spent at camp half-blood. from the moment the battle of manhattan had ended until eight years ago she’d disappeared, flown under the radar as best as she could and truly cut ties with any of the others that dwelled within the city and claimed a similarity to herself. for the most part. a few of them had slipped through the cracks of her life here and there, but for the most part moira hardwicke was an unknown, an enigma, a question mark in the memories of anyone who tried to recall their time there ---if they’d remembered her at all. the awkward girl with knobby knees and judgment scrawled harshly across features she hadn’t yet grown into, she wouldn’t be offended if they didn’t quite recall her. it had been preferred, really. but here she was, sitting across from one of the sons of hades with a cup of warm coffee pressed between the tips of her fingers of either hand. and she felt placid.

      ian cartwright was always as awkward as moira had been. quiet, knobby, and a little weird ... but perhaps that was the appeal, now. part of the reason she’d offered to have coffee with him in the first place, though in retrospect it didn’t quite seem like it was appropriate to give him her number on the job. in the middle of the ER, transferring a patient from her care to his, while he scrubbed in. they both looked a bit harried but controlled in the situation, as if the moment and wash of recognition between the two of them was more surprising than the trauma patient that connected them. oh hey, i know you in passing, and the offer for coffee thereafter. totally inappropriate, but here they were.

      “ so, a surgeon, huh? wanted to keep a lock on your social life being to a minimum or you really like helping people that much? ” not like she could claim otherwise ---the appeal to the work of a paramedic was much of the same: fast-paced, to discover the inner workings of people while helping, and to have a convenient excuse to keep social interactions outside of work to a minimum. but here she was. and here he was.

      and time had done them both some good.

[inomnibus]

floresandfauna​:

OPEN;; Location: The Florist’s Shop

The scratches of chalk joined the low hum of music in the cramped space of the florist’s shop as Emera scribbled away on the board in her lap. There was a palette of paint tucked into the far corner under the leaves of the dracaenas, a half finished mural overseeing it as it dried. The paint hadn’t wanted to agree with her, as it did on most days she found things quiet enough to continue painting the wall and so Emera had moved on to the sad task of erasing the chalk sign she’d left up for the entirety of the last two weeks of October. And it had made her rather sad. Sad enough to erase her rendition of snow drops and snow men and snow flakes, leaves and turkeys over and over again after showing the bouquets of gerbera daisies that shared the counter space with her, receiving less than the approval that she was looking for. Gerbera daisies had always been the judgmental sort. 

“Do you still think I can make a gourd joke or has it already gone out of style? I mean, I hope it hasn’t,” she said, wiping her palms on her jeans and fixing a few stray hairs that had fallen out of the floppy beanie on her head. “Those were funny. A gourd, solid joke, if you will,” she finished with a giggle, just in time to join in with the bell above the shop’s door.  

-

      why did she keep subjecting herself to this?

      any other day moira might have wrestled with the idea of leaving it be, of skipping over emera’s flower shop and the two-bit fortunes the daughter of apollo spoonfed her like an infant. moira didn’t believe in them, at all. it was silly to question it, she’d known firsthand what she and her ilk were capable of, researched what it meant to be affiliated with the god of the sun and music and fortunes and art and the list went on and on and on. but somehow, still, she doubted. but today it was business, not the means to keep more flower petals perpetually in her pockets because the stars and the cards and the rocks in the toes of your shoes said so. when the bell announced her presence moira pursed her lips, shot a glance upward at it, and then let her eyes settle on the demigod behind the counter. demigod. what a joke they all were.

      “ hey. ” and briefly she wondered if there would be any fortunes in store for her, though she’d brush them aside for actual work ---at least, for emera. perhaps the grim expression that stuck to moira’s features (more grim than usual) would be the giveaway that she wasn’t quite here for a jab, but maybe not. with a sigh, with a roll of her shoulders, she approached the counter and eyed the paints there, the flowers beside the other. “ slow day? ”

[inomnibus]

ethanxwood​:

City Streets II Open

It took Ethan a moment to register which neighborhood of the city he had ended up in last night, falling victim to the harsh rays of the early morning sunlight once he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He squinted, raked his fingers through his tussled locks, and began the trek back to his apartment kept company by the fractured memories of a pretty blonde whose name he didn’t bother to remember and the whiskey still laced on his breath.

The blocks seemed endless, and the pounding in Ethan’s skull seemed even more so. It had been a long night, but nothing out of the ordinary for the son of the Ares— partying, drinking, and going home with some random chick. He had no shame in his ways and really, it was more of a surprise that he was able to keep his fists at bay while under the influence. Much to his father’s dismay.

As Ethan trudged down 14th, he kept his head dipped low, desperate to get the hell home and evade any unwanted attention. But even in a city as large as New York, Ethan Wood was seldom able to keep a low profile. He had almost made it back home unscathed, his destination practically within reach, when he noticed a familiar face —one it was now too late to dodge.

“Shit.” Ethan blurted much louder than intended. He brought a hand to the nape of his neck and nodded towards them. “Er— hey.”

-

      “ nice. ” moira murmured, falling into step beside ethan as if it was always her intention to be walking beside him. hands were stuffed deep inside of the pockets of her work slacks, her button-down shirt untucked and open to reveal the under armour shirt beneath ---otherwise wild mane pulled back into a high tail that looked as if it had been perhaps a little tousled from her work shift. thirds. it had been too many years since she signed up for them and still she wasn’t used to phasing back into reality. but where ethan was just waking up, just getting adjusted to his morning and attempting to wrestle with whatever liquor was still coursing through his system, moira was ready to tuck out. it had been a long night. but it always was in new york ... that was part of the appeal.

      “ you look like shit, just so you know. ” not that her opinion was warranted, or even asked-for. but that was moira in a nutshell, the essence of her concentrated into small bursts of social interactions. it was all she could really handle. and she knew ethan ---besides the period of her life that moira liked to pretend didn’t exist, there was a familiarity with this particular person ... one that made her feel a bit more comfortable in hearing the regret laced in his tone. his walk of shame. except she imagined there wasn’t really any shame in the walk. “ scale it up for me, one to ten, how hot was this one? worth the hangover? because really, you look like absolute garbage. i have an excuse for it - i worked all night. but you? oof. ”

[inomnibus]

NAME: Moira Hardwicke.

AGE: 34.

BIRTHDAY: October 8, 1986.

PRONOUNS: She/Her.

GENDER: Cis woman.

BIRTHPLACE: Dublin, Virginia.

OCCUPATION: Paramedic.

GODLY PARENT: Athena.

FACECLAIM: Emmy Rossum.

BIOGRAPHY.

death tw

a life of adventure was never something that moira craved. where most children ate up tales of magic and fantasy, moira found her comfort in something more real, something more cerebral and obtainable with her own two hands. perhaps it was early intuition from her mother keeping a steady anchor to the world, but she never quite entertained the idea of the fantastical, in any sense of the word. the daughter of a chemical engineer graduate from MIT, moira was formally raised by her father without any question of her heritage —and she’s always resented it. always with the idea that her gifts were never natural, that they were hand-me-downs from her godly mother, moira invested as much time in her childhood taking things apart as she could: the tv, computers, watches, radios … anything she could get her hands on and just to see how it worked. just to put it back together again. it sparked a fury in her that never quelled, even into her adulthood - the question of if she was truly talented at anything or if it was a divine gift from her mother.

when the offer came to attend camp half-blood, to learn to protect herself lest she come under attack from something truly dangerous, moira had no say in the matter. her father sent her off with a kiss to the head and the most sincere of well-wishes. moira was one of the fortunate children, that she’d avoided being targeted by anything drawn to her blood. it wasn’t a chance her father was willing to take.

her role in camp was that of the quiet observer, willingly standing back from the rest of her peers and apparent siblings (though she never quite saw them as that) to focus on her tasks. her calling came with combat training, favoring using her fists and improvisational weapons when need-be. it was an outlet for the small, socially anxious girl (who was far more interested in keeping to herself, in seeing how things worked, in thinking things through) to release all of the frustrations she’d pent up throughout her childhood. aggression marked her, appeared in the oddest of places and in the most focused of moments and moira allowed herself to be swallowed by the swell of it whenever she was pitted against a training dummy, against someone else. it was one of the few times she shined and didn’t shy away from the stage, if only because she was so absorbed in her resentment.

despite her more meek and disinterested nature, moira took a more forward role during the battle of manhattan. she displayed her innate capability as a daughter of athena with her tactical prowess and skill in combat. in the aftermath she slipped away, choosing not to linger or exchange information with her peers and instead wishing to disappear into a life of normalcy … for as much of it as she could manage. but things are never that easy.

at nineteen she spent three days in jail, punishment from her father in his refusal to bail her out, for her part in masterminding a robbery and employing those of easy will to do all of the dirty work. in the end she was never brought to trial when the only evidence that could be put forth was the word of the people she’d convinced to help her and nothing more. a serial underachiever, moira spent many years attending college for aimless classes, receiving an associate’s degree in the arts, in the sciences, and even in legal studies before disengaging herself from school all together for a time. the resentment of her gifts was still ever-present, a constant wonder if her intelligence was her own or a gift from her mother, and it forced moira away from any intellectual pursuits that would have otherwise benefited her. for a long while she barely held down a job, instead allowing herself to move from one shallow relationship to the next, using her partners for some gain or another before ending their tryst entirely and moving onto the next.

it was only when her father fell gravely ill that she decided to take herself more seriously. his dying wish being that his daughter make something of herself, embrace who she was and accept that even if her intelligence was a trait from athena that it was still her own, honored by a daughter who’d wasted much of her life on bitterness. the only pursuit that moira had never followed, the only subject she’d never learned the inner workings of intimately (unlike clocks and watches, tvs and phones) were humans — and so she promised her father she’d make something of herself.

presently moira works at a paramedic, taking the training courses to become an emt at 26 and then moving onto paramedic training thereafter, and has worked as one for the past 8 years in new york city. it offers her the chance to learn of the inner workings of humans, how they tick, and to keep the pieces from falling apart as much as she can, and provides the same rush of adrenaline that her combat training gave in her days at camp half-blood. forever a serial under-achiever, moira has settled placidly in place as just a paramedic, bearing no desire to move forward with more medical training or precise schooling to become anything more. and she’s still trying to become accustomed to her life as a demigod, the ever-insurmountable task.

Played by: Kay.

[inomnibus]

Margaret Atwood, from Power Politics

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[inomnibus]

“when they told her her story was written in the stars, she went to the heavens and crushed each one with her bare hands, stars have no power over her, the night sky is hers now, and she will carve it with constellations of her own.”

— never tell a goddess her fate // k.s. (via worthystevie)

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#when people argue with me

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there is no audience to perform for, there is no approval, no admiration to attain. there is no role worth playing, there is no one to convince. let it go

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