samsonofapollo

[samsonofapollo]

Adrian drew a breath in, as if summoning the fortitude necessary, then laid it all out. The small breakthroughs felt like their own sort of reward, listening quietly to Adrian and subtly reflecting on his own experience with a father who didn't say much. Samson was fortune, though his father was quiet he was still a really great dad.

It wasn't hard for Samson to imagine Apollo flooding the room with light, he'd seen it firsthand. The room in question was hard to picture: where Adrian had grown up - his family. Samson was taking inventory, listening as his free hand hung idly to the strap of his bag.

"I think our fathers would get along." Samson mused quietly, before following up with a quick quip. "I think I took more after my mother though." A beat, testing that social battery once again. "Are you close with your parents?"

He hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe it wasn’t Samson who was overthinking things but Adrian who wasn’t thinking hard enough. Instead of giving some kind of insight or another point of view, the son of the huntress merely frowned and tilted his head to the side. “I guess so…”

Ah, right. He mentioned something and now he has to explain it. That’s usually how these things go. He took a deep breath and got to it.

“My dad was… not big on talking unless he had to. Work took up a lot of his time and when he came home he didn’t feel like being bothered.” It’s why Adrian has taken to the camera at a young age. It was something he could do that kept him entertained, quiet, and out of the way. “But one night I guess he was feeling like talking… or maybe he was so nostalgic that he didn’t mind talking. He said that he was over the moon about here but she only ever stayed for a while at a time. That the last time he saw her was shortly after I was born. A very beautiful man came one day, and the two of them left together. Said that he made the room bright, even if the news he gave of them leaving was dark.”

[samsonofapollo]

"No, of course not." Samson's face screwed up, indignant. "- and I called out your name because you got hit and I care about you... physical intimacy is hard for me, you know this... but you have friends that you sleep with. Half the camp does. I had a really good day that day, the adrenaline was pumping, and when I saw you I-" Horny from combat went unsaid, but it was there.

While there was no changing the past, he'd found the line and knew now not to cross it. Most days he felt so alone it was suffocating, and that was no one's problem to fix but his own - but he was trying. He'd gone about it the worst way possible, but all he could give Merrick was an apology. "I'm sorry, I am. I do want to be friends, I can't imagine being here and not being friends." Hope was a dangerous thing, and the Kentucky born had stopped feeding it years ago.

"But while we're being honest... Why did you let that xenomorph take you out? Eden connected you - you didn't have to take the fall."

this is the side of samson that merrick enjoys—the one with a bite, the one who stands up for himself. he saw glimpses of it before they went their separate ways, it seemed to be dulled to nothing when he came to camp, and now it's back. it's rarely been used against merrick, but it seems the son of hecate is an overachiever when pulling that from the son of apollo.

"i don't know what you want from me, samson." there, the last remnants of honesty. "wires got crossed. you said friends and then you call out my name, you come to my cabin, and you made me feel." feel like things could be better than they were before, like there was still fire between them, enough to stoke and burn, burn, burn. he sits down now, elbows on the table, head in his hands. "do you, did you, really think all i wanted from you was physical?" he looks up, honeyed eyes meeting baby blues and holds samson's gaze there. "is that why you thought i wanted you back then, too?"

[samsonofapollo]

Warm, salty, and sensitive - Samson relished the softening weight in his mouth - arm moving in quick succession as he looked up along the hard length of the other's frame. Simplicity was allowing the moment to be what it was, though the moment Hughie started shedding his clothes - confusion struck Samson before he realized that the other was intent on assisting.

And Samson was still a man like any other, rising only to take a step back, bumping into the table and leaning against it - fingers trailing across Hughie's chest - tracing scars he was too hesitant to touch. He drew them along the side of the other's face, against his temple, across his scalp, and then settled behind his ears. Light, brushing, a playful scratch and attempt at contact as Samson's other hand stayed busy with his cock.

Cognizant about what was happening only once Hughie knelt down, Samson's eyes went wide, his mouth opening to protest despite the fact that his body had already moved: sat, spread, leaned. "You really don't have to- oh-" To say it had been a long time was putting it mildly, at least compared to some in his demographic, so the first knee-jerk sensation was the burn of intrusion as his body tensed around the meaty finger. Nothing about Hughie was mild or restrained, thick worn hands, a body battered by Gods knew what. Samson breathed, just as instructed - loosening into the sensation as a spark ran up his spine in tandem with Hughie's curled finger.

Words were never in short supply with Samson, he often said too much and most of it turned out to be the wrong thing - or things that people didn't care to hear. For once it felt good to have little to say - sighing through his parted lips as his head tilted back and tipped against the shed wall. "Oh wow." A hand curled around the corner of the table, bracing himself as the other continued to work himself over, looking down at Hughie - looking at everything that bare, muscular body knelt in practical supplication could yield - Samson wouldn't last. He swallowed, watching Hughie through half-lidded eyes, "Right there."

his breaths came slower, more languorous, as the mounting desire soon gave way to a state of utter bliss. he felt like he craved a bout of sleep – or perhaps another round, if time restored his constitution quickly. but samson had indeed done the impossible achievement of making hughie feel cored out, emptied of his pleasure, as he all but filled the other's mouth to its brim. 

now another scent joined the cloud in the shed: hot, thick seed, still leaking in white and milky strings from his cockhead that the son of apollo returned his focus onto. a groan left him unbidden, body trembling as the aftershocks set in. his sensitivity was turned up to levels previously unfelt. and although hughie would not refuse another indulgence from the other, he knew he had a favor to return. 

“lay back,” the son of artemis husked, all smoke and coarseness. he stepped out of his trousers, shed the shirt that clung to his skin in a sweaty layer. revealed from underneath is a broad-shouldered, statuesque figure, a torso painted with scars and dusted with hair, both age and his profession leaving its marks well upon his body. 

he stepped closer, knelt in between samson's open legs, and put a hand between the other's thighs. fingers, seeking the cleft amid the cheeks, and then soon entering as hughie grinned. “breathe in,” he asked. and whenever samson chose to obey, he'd time it with the slow push of his middle digit into that roseate bud, for the fingerpad to find the other's heat and curl into it, stroke pleasure from it. 

[samsonofapollo]

This calm, mild-mannered man was such a stark contrast to the feral warrior that Samson had seen now in multiple fights. It shouldn't have been so easy to reconcile but now and then he caught glimpses of it - but that was just the duality of the wild. Wolves were feared among men, but a pack hunted to survive - wild dogs were far more dangerous - because they'd learned the thrill of hunting for sport from humanity.

"I feel bad for them." Samson admitted, "Only able to love us from afar, forbidden to lift us up when we might have needed them most. This feels like a second chance... Not just for us, but for them to, you know?" He liked to believe so, anyway. There was every chance that Samson was just projecting, but from what he'd heard of the gods, he understood that pain was not so foreign to them as he previously assumed. "I was just wondering where you stood," Explaining why he'd asked at all, "because I wanted you to know what He means to me." Apollo had saved his life, for Samson, it was only natural to feel indebted to him.

"What did he say?"

There’s a long stretch of silence before Adrian even makes a noise. He wasn’t as eloquent as some of the others were and it was already difficult to process how he’d felt about the goddess, his mother. Frankly, he’d been avoiding the topic as much as he’d been staying clear of large gatherings.

“She’s my blood, but I’d never considered her family before I came here.” He finally said, the words trailing on end of a sigh. “That changing because I now know her name feels…” Should divine beings be given grace for not being in their children’s lives? Then again, he could see how she was around, in times where things just seemed to have aligned a little too well. But he had no confirmation of that. He hadn’t even tried to get it.

Mother and son, head of the den and the pup who saw the inside of it too late. Both of them similar in so many ways. Now it was his turn to be avoiding contact- and it felt both justified and wrong. “I could see how someone could be. Closer, I mean. And maybe I will be, one day.” Just not this one.

But it was enough to remind him of something. “I told Cassidy- I think my father met him. Something he said, about my mother’s brother. Never thought much of it until recently.”

[samsonofapollo]

Grinning in response, he leaned in a bit as if he could hear the unknown notes that Luka was picking up on.

Validation felt good because, yes, there were few occasions where Samson didn't want to devour whatever food was placed in front of him. There weren't many - any - quality sushi places in Harlan, at least none that compared to when he went to Berkeley, so the prospect of scouring the London food scene was once again... titillating to Samson.

"Honestly I came over here because I was hoping you'd want to grab lunch again," manipulative, but only in the most playful of ways. "does this mean the plants have been spying on you-" did that mean they'd been spying on everyone? Samson was going to go home and start putting sheets over his house plants when he wanted to take a shower. "so this was what... like an information network thing?"

the sound's clear enough to ring out just over the buzz of myriad voices running through his head.

"oh fuck, right." he'd started to pull free from the connection, but when he was fed a question, he just grinned and kept in place a little longer. "how're they gonna know better than me?" with a little chuckle. "we'll see how creepy they are." the ask was sent out into the almost 'network', and the answer was as scattered as he could expect. "somehow, they knew the answer was sushi." a rare and expensive treat in fresno, but often found around the resort. a reward or a gift as he grew up, becoming something he could go and get...almost whenever he wanted.

like a little trophy, whenever he happened to think about it.

whether the plants actually knew, or he wanted to softball samson an easy answer, luka wasn't about to tell. "so? what about it? wanna go get some fish?"

[samsonofapollo]

A fair point, one that Samson did tuck away for later - though he would endeavor to make it so Adrian didn't regret saying that - he smiled in response just the same, subconsciously drawing his thumb across the back of Adrian's hand. "I feel very close with Apollo, I don't have much to compare this feeling of devotion to besides that I love him in a way that I think only Gods can be loved." There were things that Samson had yet to say out loud beyond the hollow alcoves of prayer, afraid - in no small way - about being somehow judged by the others. Reverence wasn't something he saw often at camp and it seemed that most people only visited the temple to ask for something. "I didn't grow up religious, not especially anyway - you and Artemis... has your perspective changed at all since coming to camp?"

The watcher, the photographer - the subtle conservationist capturing wild beauty - where Samson saw a religious experience someone else might just see an occupation. "About religion in general or... the fact that we're related to divinity."

“You don’t need to ask permission to ask something.” Or maybe people did and Adrian just never realized it. It could also be a cultural thing, one of many he’d never fully picked up on from his big move not too many years ago. “You can just ask it.”

But that was beside the point.

Samson was a deep thinker, a storyteller, someone who gathered information and myths like some people gather flowers: sometimes for what they symbolize and sometimes simply for their beauty. Adrian was a watcher, an observer, someone who captured a moment into a still photograph, usually from afar. Lately, he’s become a listener. Sometimes begrudgingly, but that depended on the one talking.

[samsonofapollo]

Whatever this new normal was came with a layer of tension that didn't sit quite well with him but could still do nothing about. He'd never refer to Merrick as a colleague but it didn't seem like the other wanted to be anything more. Samson was happy to work together, eager to, and was grateful to still consider Merrick a friend - but if they didn't even have that much then he couldn't be certain what was left. "I'll let the others know."

Samson thought that was the purpose of the text, though it was a very... scientific approach, it branched well with his application of sound and music. He opened his mouth to tell Merrick about his latest rehearsal, how the Apollo cabin had a hall with acoustics ideal for practicing in the same manner that Merrick described - but he stopped short to take a beat. "I'm sorry- I got a bit carried away in here," it was a library, after all and Merrick had come looking for him, "was there another reason why you came? I got the impression that you didn't want to talk much... considering I had to stop you from walking in, dropping your notes, and leaving immediately after."

ten years and merrick can still read the words unsaid, can still tell that there's something else that samson wants to say but he's too afraid to say it. it was like the first time they'd said i love you. nerves, tension, saying something else until finally the words just came out. "then i can be there." does he want to be in close proximity to samson? of course. does he want to help out one of their own? obviously. he's said from the beginning that they're a team, that he'll do whatever he can to make sure they succeed. even if that means shutting his feelings behind a wall so that he can move forward.

but fuck if that isn't hard to do.

all of this feels so transactional that it's making merrick feel sick. exchanging of notes, studying together, as if they're nothing more than partners for a school project—they'd never been that before, their fields rarely had overlap, but they would bounce ideas off one another endlessly; merrick's fingers carded through samson's hair as he rested his head on his lap, leaning down every now and then to kiss him. now, everything was complicated. now, nothing seemed to make sense.

"music heals." the words come out flat, though not bitter. "you taught me that. there's still songs i go to when i'm in certain moods. perhaps we need to look into that as well, what resonances, what frequencies, might be used to channel for different solutions." he holds his hand out for the book and, if and when samson gives it over, he flips it open to skim some of the pages. "i'll see what—" he's about to offer his help again and stops. he looks at the book, then to samson, and places it back down on the table. "i'll see what i can find to help. but," he closes his eyes for a moment, pushing aside the need to stay optimistic. samson deserves truth, not a fabricated facade. "is this really all we're going to be?" he motions between them, then down to the books and notes spaced out around them.

[samsonofapollo]

"I'd like you to be," Samson said candidly, "if that impacts your decision, but I'll respect it if that means you'd rather not." He was trying to be respectful of the line but it was hard to keep himself from wanting to bandage the rift he felt welling between them. In all turns things felt overwhelmingly complicated, their lives were difficult, the camp was a pressure tank, and at any moment they could be called to risk everything. Samson didn't want to waste whatever time either of them had, but neither did he want to go backwards when the path ahead felt so clear. "I-" still care about you, still want to be there for you, still want to do this together- Samson said none of these things, afraid of once again saying the wrong thing. "think your experience and talent are invaluable, and if nothing else it would be a great learning experience for all of us."

They weren't so far gone that Merrick couldn't guess what Samson was thinking when he simply gave Merrick, a look: you won't know until you ask - but Samson wouldn't nag his friends... Only nudge them, gently, respectfully - sometimes with both hands. "After the Thunderdome I pivoted slightly, though I think it's really more an amalgam of where we already started: healing through resonance, but tapping into more than physical injuries and diving deeper into the psychological or spiritual." Samson had checked a book out of the library as some light reading, withdrawing it from his bag now and laying it on the table: Resonant Field Theory and the Aetheric Substrate: Modal Frameworks for Non-Physical Healing. The author's name, penned beneath: Dr. Theron Ascleion, son of Asclepius. "Maybe we can exchange notes?" Ignoring the truth.

it isn't that merrick is mad at samson. truthfully, he had no right to be. he had been the one to leave. he had been the one to put the expiration date on their relationship and he had been the one to cut all contact with him. ten years. ten years of no samson hart in his life and yet, he had been a thought at least once a day. he could've, at any moment, called him or sent him a text. he just didn't think that samson would want that. it would've made it harder. he enabled him to move on. ironic, isn't it?

"i can be." is all that he says. the more people present, the better, he assumes. he knows that whatever they try to do, whatever missing pieces they might find would take more than one or two demigods to accomplish. hell, if they find anything at all it'd be a miracle. "i don't know adrian that much, but no one deserves to have their mind tampered with. i think you'll be fine if i'm not, though. you're all quite capable." he's keeping it as professional as possible, not wanting his own personal feelings to tread on their conversation.

"we see each other every now and then. he seems busy with his relationships and i'm not sure if he necessarily wants to add a half-brother into the mix outside of a friendly, professional manner." it's not a conversation they've really had, yet, but merrick isn't going to push someone for proximities sake. he nods his head, "i'm glad that you have him as a resource, then. he'll be able to help you with whatever you're studying." it sounds an awful lot like because i don't think i can be there with you during it, but those words go unspoken. "have you found anything else on the subject?"

[samsonofapollo]

In typical fashion the son of Apollo's thoughts continued to drift, thinking idly of the story of Hyacinth and what happened to poor Thamyris. That was the price for falling in with Gods, though arguably the Prince's fate was worse. To depend on nothing but the sun, to be kept from rest and sleep - poetry and tragedy - perhaps Thamyris was right.

"Can I ask you something?" Samson started, pulled from his daydreaming and scarcely cognizant that he'd been watched at all, head turning as they wandered - presumably led by Adrian - lest they end up somewhere that even the son of Artemis was unfamiliar with. His palm was warm, grounding, Adrian made it easy to stay in the present. "It's about faith."

He didn't even react to them holding hands. It wasn't like it was the first time it'd happened. The context was a little different this time around, though. Adrian's eyes mostly stayed on the path ahead, making sure nothing got in their way and there was always someone safe for Samson to put down his next step. He stole glances occasionally, mostly to see what might be going on in that constantly thinking head of the other demigod.

"You make up most of the team." He argued with a snort. "You do things, and I back you up. I do things, and you keep them from backfiring. I go in and start clawing and biting at whatever is in front of me, and you and all the others who can heal make me feel invincible." During that fight in the thunder-whatever, he never felt like he'd been on the verge of falling over, and that was not due to anything he'd done himself.

[samsonofapollo]

Soft - unhurried, sure - like the first note of a string drawn through the swell of silence, the kiss unfurled into something richer. Samson breathed into it, tasting fig and forest, and the sun-warm certainty of being wanted in the now. Their lips moved imperfectly, eager rhythm, and somewhere in the hush of heartbeats it felt as though the forest responded. A sway of a branch as the wind poured through it, birdsong quieting to a listening hush, and a thin thread of golden light - thin, Apollonian - spun softly from a shaft peaking overhead. Delicately weaving, threading, turning.

When they parted, just enough to breathe, Samson stayed close, forehead against Adrian’s, the world narrowing to the space between them. “Okay,” he whispered, breathing into a smile, “maybe it’s not complicated.” This reminded him of a different story but his mind couldn't turn to it just yet, still grounded in the present. "You know," Samson said, easily turning to fall into step suddenly beside Adrian, hand threading through the one that he'd left free - shoulder bumping shoulder, "we make a hell of a team."

He grunted lightly at the change in tactic but Adrian didn’t back down. The toll for further entrance past his lips could only be paid with mutual access and he had a feeling that Samson was on board with that- so he just went for it. He was out of practice and it probably was easy to tell from his lack of coordination but that didn’t stop him from kissing back with everything he had.

Eventually, he did pull back. Just enough to catch his breath and savor the lingering taste of figs and the child of Apollo in his mouth. But he was still looking at Samson the same as before they’d collided like this: no confusion, no second thoughts.

“See?” He said exhaled knocking their foreheads together like he might get through to him that way. “Not complicated.”

[samsonofapollo]

If there was a way of resolving this safely then Samson was resolved to follow that path through - otherwise a line had already been drawn. He'd grown up quite aware of posture and it wasn't hard to feel the tension slipping between them and with it came the gnawing wonder if Merrick wanted to be there or not. He waited -watching the other for a beat as the son of Hecate stayed standing.

Samson was confident that they'd get to the bottom of what happened the day they brought back Orion, one way or another. It was in all of their natures to want to help, to want to be there - that was the commonality that Samson was uncovering with each of them the more he engaged with the rest of the camp. "It's a start, telling Adrian was another. Are you going to be there?" For safety - perhaps comfort, Merrick had helped carry things this far it wasn't right for him to not be there to see it through.

"You don't see much of each other?" That sounded a little sad considering their proximity and how much the two probably had in common - in Samson's head he painted a picture of two shadows orbiting and occupying similar spaces but enver crossing. Maybe by virtue of their parallel paths, it was easy to assume that where one healing archetype might be, another wouldn't be far behind. "He's been a really great resource to bounce ideas off," not the first time Samson had referred to Stephanos like a library book and it likely wouldn't be the last - it was meant affectionately.

he hesitates. his foot drops back down to the ground, he turns back to face samson. i got over you. when he looks at him, it's what he hears. he sees the look in samson's eyes, the one that made merrick feel that all samson thought he wanted was his body, was the physical, like it had been back then. did merrick not make him feel like he wanted him for more than that all those years ago?

probably not. maybe he was a horrible partner. no wonder he was easy to get over.

he doesn't sit back down. instead, he stands near the table and watches as samson looks through the notes he's created.

he hums out a "huh." when samson talks about adrian and stephanos. it makes sense. stephanos is more than capable with his magic and adrian is the one with the potentially tampered with brain. "hopefully that can help with whatever it is stephanos will do." he pulls out a book from his bag, dropping it down onto the table. "there's information in here on things like that. you can give the book to stephanos the next time you talk to him. you probably see him more than me."

[samsonofapollo]

@dirtyxpawx location: Apollo Cabin notes: one sad thread as requested <3

Samson sat alone at the cello, framed by the gentle arc of the amphitheater-styled chamber. While inspiration came from everywhere, it was in the darkest parts of himself that Samson seemed most apt to distill the more creative parts of his soul. Light and sorrow wrapped into one, though the smile was always what he would use to face the world if only because it was easy. He couldn't remember when it started, but at some point in his childhood he'd been asked: what's wrong and he'd instinctively responded with a grin and a dismissive assurance. The last thing he'd want was for someone to worry.

Samson sat alone at the center of the space, his cello cradled between his knees. He'd lost track of how long he’d been playing - immersed in the symphony as he wound his way through the strokes and deliberate arcs of his bow. It was easy for him to play for hours at a time, generally speaking the only time his mind was truly quiet was when he was fully immersed in the practice of creation. In his heart he missed his parents, he missed home - and with a newfound certainty of self, Samson was beginning to question if he liked this person he was becoming.

His fingertips, worn raw from pressure and repetition, had split open. Red welled at the pads of his fingers and streaked the strings, dotting the varnished body of the cello like rust on gold. He hadn’t even noticed - at least not at first - he’d been playing through it, into it. His bow stilled as the door opened, his eyes finding Hughie there before he noted the staining neck of the cello.

“...hey neighbour.” Blotting at the strings with his sleeve, he'd told Hughie where to find the Apollo cabin, but once again he hadn't expected the Artemisian to actually show up. He made a mental note then and there to stop making assumptions where the sons of Artemis were concerned - he'd been taught that lesson enough times over that it should have stuck by now... Which bled into the next question of: how long should he wait before texting Adrian?

Samson looked for a beat at his hand, elevating it and cradling it gingerly, "Think I got a bit carried away." Preparing to shift into host mode, he set the cello against its stand beside him, eyes red. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?"

[samsonofapollo]

codychristian back but i never left 🫶

[samsonofapollo]

"The awkward look won't be necessary!" Samson raised his hands in mock defense, "Please no," laughter followed, though he was already formulating his response.

"But to answer your question: Yes." Where sweets were concerned, Samson didn't discriminate. When he'd been at Berkeley he had dragged Merrick to just about every patisserie on the West coast - working through the menu and returning to try and maximize it. He'd never completed his conquest, but the world was open to him again. "Sweet, savoury, palette cleansers. I won't discriminate against a good pastry... I'll admit, I'm very glad my metabolism has been working overtime lately."

Often seen toting an overflowing try about the dining hall, sitting alone or in a group - quietly working his way through far too much food with a soft smile on his face. There were few other moments in life where Samson was quite as happy as when he was eating.

For: Samson @samsonofapollo Location: Campgrounds

"Okay, so, I'm going to need you to tell me exactly what your favourite food based treat is. I can usually at least make an educated guess at a lot of peoples but considering how much work you were putting in during that training uh. I'd rather not risk getting it wrong." Did he have his phone open so he could actually take note of it? Absolutely. While his relationship with all things cooking could be rocky at times, provoke questions of how much he actually enjoyed it versus how much was just... Forced in to his hands over the years, it didn't change a pretty simple fact.

It was probably the only way he'd figured out of showing his appreciation that even remotely leaned in to mother's domain without feeling like he was cheating somehow. Charms and seduction and all things messy were not in his wheelhouse and he was more than keen to stick to just... Hey, good job, have snack.

"And, no, there isn't an option to avoid answering. I will make the most disarmingly awkward face you've ever seen and you'll feel compelled to tell me regardless. Son of Aphrodite stuff, clearly."

Gus could at least say it now, without feeling like he was just stumbling his way through it.

[samsonofapollo]

"A near perfect open G, try and let your arm hang a bit more, don't lock it into place the string's vibration need you to be more... loose." Simple praise before holding up his index finger, "We'll do a scale next: C major," Basics of the basics. Samson put his hands into position, leaning slightly over Ronan, "we can go through it together and then I'll get you to try." Seemed like Ronan's hands were rough enough already, that'd help - it had taken years for the callouses to build up on the pads of Samson's fingers.

His own hand came to rest atop Ronan’s, warm and steady. He pressed Ronan’s first finger down gently on the A string, just above the first tape. “Again, not too much pressure - let the bow do some of the work.” He guided Ronan’s second finger next. “D. Keeping to the curve." Then the third. “E." From E, to F, note by note until the final G - the amber of the scale, deep, rich, and in tune. With some finality Samson let the other take the reigns, "There, give that a try."

“Was it hitting a note or crying out in protest?” He jabbed back at his own expense. “Poor sod probably thinks I’m trying to murder it.” Ronan wasn’t frustrated or anything yet. Even the crafts he was passionate about hadn’t come to him on the first try. It did feel a little like he had all thumbs, though. Clumsy, with no clear way on how to not be.

But in came some guidance. For a man who spent a lot of his life carving a path for himself and giving orders for anyone following him, he took to being instructed well. Finding the right amount of pressure was something he could understand from things like glassblowing. And when the much more pleasing sound came from the cello? His brows rose both in surprise and satisfaction. “That was a lot less terrible, thank you.”

[samsonofapollo]

Samson followed easily, falling into step beside Charlie with a rhythm that was natural, unhurried. He glanced sidelong at Charlie’s outfit - casual, confident - and felt mildly overdressed by comparison, sweater sleeves pushed to his elbows even though the fabric was too heavy for the heat.

“That depends on your definition of ‘settling,’” he said with a dry little smile, still working the bit of string between his fingers. “I’ve found where the coffee is. I have my cabin. I know who works well in a group setting and who needs... a bit more guidance. That’s... decent progress.”

For a beat Samson considered his audience and tried to break the explanation down as best he could, "Fate, healing, and the application of light and music to influence both."

Stepping out into the warm summer air, Charlie was now sporting a dressed down look. Tan corduroy shorts that hugged against his thighs, a retro t-shirt, a white shirt with blue color trim around the sleeves and collar, coming up his biceps, clearly dressed for the warm weather. " Very, I don't get to actually relax in a place like that too often, I did enjoy the company," Charlie admitted with a smile, motioning Samson to follow along as he walked, pretty aimlessly for now. He the majority of his connections would come once his powers kicked in, and beyond turning water into wine, Charlie was still figuring out what he could do. " So, settling into camp and your powers well yeah? The idea of us now having powers is insane...what can you do?"

[samsonofapollo]

Samson’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of admiration crossing his features as Arthur rattled off his reading list with a casualness that he couldn't help but enjoy. Samson reached over and lightly tapped the top book in Arthur’s stack - the one on satyrs, dryads, and nymphs - with two fingers. “Smart move. The dryads already have a betting pool going on how many people accidentally propose by week’s end. I think you’re safe as long as you don’t gift them a fern and recite poetry. Or blink too slowly. Or breathe too romantically.” It was a joke, though it was said in the same, light cadence that Samson might have rattled off any other factoids - though this one was punctuated by a laugh.

"I would love to borrow the demigod accounts when you're done with it, our very existence opens up so many doors - so many questions that I never thought of before." Samson could feel himself getting excited and had to physically try and relax before he got too eager.

It was interesting to run into someone else, besides Ezequiel, who had that thirst for knowledge that Arthur seemed to always have. There was always something to learn, something to better yourself with, and with this world now open to him... Arthur needed to answer so many questions. "If I didn't have control, I'd probably try to annex the library to be a wing of the Athena cabin." he mused with a smile as his fingers reached over to grab the top book from his stack. "I teach ancient history and mythology back at Cambridge. I want to know what myths are real and which ones we got wrong." And then he grabbed the next. "Some extensive reading on satyrs, dryads, and nymphs since they're all over the camp... The last thing I need to do is accidentally get engaged to a nymph for them to later stab my eyes out. There are quite a few accounts of that happening." and then he pulled out the third book from the pile. "any records or personal accounts of previous demigods. They said it's been centuries since they last called on their children. I want to know what to expect." It was clear Arthur's mind had been all over the place, but it was a cohesive chaos.