I don't know why you're always complaining. It's not like you can go back and fix anything. Just move on, Nick. Acheron certainly has.Once again, his fate changed on a throwaway comment
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Gwen's running again but at least this time, she's not running away from anything. She's met Nate now and it hadn't crashed and burned horribly and she'd even had a good, decent night with a man who wasn't Rhys or Aidan and didn't come out worse for it.
Today she's running because it makes her feel free and that's a precious thing on the sandbox that's the island. It's just a loop around the same old paths and down the beach, true, but sometimes if she closes her eyes for a moment and just breathes, she can pretend it's somewhere else. Anywhere else.
She pauses, though, when she hears the man just under the trees and stops there, hands on her hips and breath coming in short, sharp pants.
"Here on this island, probably," Gwen says, laughing in spite of herself. She's done her fair share of drinking recently, she's probably not really in a place to judge.
"You just showed, then, didn't you? On the island?"
Gwen's not that good at explaining it to other people but it helps, somewhat, if they've got a head for things that aren't supposed to exist. Torchwood-type things.
"Yeah. Rudely ripped from in front of a perfectly good imported beer then, bam, here I am." He looked at the woman, his head cocked a little, one eyebrow popping over the rim of his Oakleys. "This place have a name? You said it's an island?
Maybe if he could identify the realm, he could figure out just where he'd landed himself.
What was he doing? "Nothing much. Just trying not to decide if making a run for the nearest bar is worth possibly incinerating myself." He ran a hand through shaggy brown hair that hadn't seen a barber in a while. "Though that doesn't seem to be happening here," he said, almost to himself.
One hand went immediately to the sword behind his back when the other guy postured. His fingers closed around the hilt. "You might want to bury the issues. I'm not a vampire, I was just given the same characteristics to make me a better hunter," he explained with a wave at the double bow and arrow tattoo on his cheek. "Believe me, buddy, I've got my own issues with them. Ones that don't end until they're dissipated."
"Feeling's fuckin' mutual." Tunny's fresh out of the ocean, water still beaded across his shoulders. He's sat down on the sand, changing his leg. Time's gone that he'd feel particularly self-conscious about it. Time's gone when he'd bat an eyelid at someone appearing out of thin air.
Nick turned towards the other man and watched him attach his leg, not phased. At least it was just a leg. Zarek had replaced his hand with a fucking claw. He needed a drink and this guy apparently knew where he could get one. Kismet.
"What's the Hub, how far is it, and is it late enough they're open and serving?"
"You have no idea, though usually I have a little more say in where I end up." Nick agreed and inched out of his cover. He hadn't burned before. Was that a fluke, or was it...well, only one way to find out.
Standing in full sun for the first time since his life went to shit, Nick took a second to appreciate the warmth of it on his skin before offering his hand to help the other man up. "Nick Gautier."
"Well, you've got three places to choose from," Aphrodite informs him, one hand on her pink-clad hip and the other shading her eyes as she walks up to him. "But you probably don't know that, do you, sweet pea. You've got that new chariot smell all over you."
Nick took a long look at the woman approaching him and it was everything he could do not to drop his jaw. He didn't know who the woman was, but he knew women that dressed like that. One of them was his best friend and worst enemy, depending on her mood. And the way this one said chariot, it was just like the way Artemis screwed up human expressions all the time.
Where the hell was he?
"That'd be a no on the knowing where the bar is, but if it helps, I'm glad to hear there are options."
"One of them's even a strip club, if you like that sort of thing," she says. Aphrodite so doesn't have a problem with it herself, has even gone in to the place a few times to check out the guy dancers, but she's a little bitter the owner won't put her on the VIP list. She's a goddess - okay, former goddess - shouldn't that be enough? "So how green are you anyway, handsome? Do I need to give you to the lowdown or have you gotten the introductory schpiel?"
He gave his head a good shake but the woman was still there, and still looking like she'd come from Olympus. "Well, I was sitting in front of a half-finished beer about five minutes ago. I'll go for the lowdown option for now."
His right hand was at his side, ready to reach for the shortsword at his back - he was too used to gods and demons fucking with him to relax.
There was a glint of light reflecting off silver as Thalia darted from one gap in the trees to another following the treeline along the beach. Her bow as slung across her back along with her quiver, useless this close to where people tended to be hanging out. Caution was vital at night, but during the daylight hours it was mandatory.
With a crunch of her boots she stepped out out the shade and into the light glancing around before retreating a few steps back. She was nearly ready to call it quits and head back to her trailer when she spotted a guy standing in the shade catching the tail end of what he said. Smirking she rolled her eyes, hands pulling down her sleeves to cover up her wrist guards.
"Can't help you with that. I left my flask in my other jacket."
Nick looked up at the female's voice and his hand went immediately to the sword at his back when he saw she was armed. He didn't draw since she didn't have an arrow notched, but he wasn't relaxing his stance, either.
"More's the pity for me, then," he answered slowly, not eased by the smile on her face.
Thalia noted the subtle change in posture, his hand going to his back but she didn't make a move to draw her own weapon. Wherever this guy had been or was from was the sort of place that fighting was the way that you met a stranger. That was something that she could definitely understand.
"Seems like." Arching an eyebrow she started to walk in a lazy arc from one patch of shade to another, keeping her distance. There was no need to approach right away. The question that she asked next was the one that had been hanging on the end of her tongue. It was going to come out sooner or later, might as well get that started. "What the hell sort of thing are you running from?"
He followed her wherever she moved, keeping her in front of him at all times - he still hasn't drawn his sword, but he's in no hurry to relax his posture.
Her question, however, had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm not running from anything. I was having a beer, then I was standing on a beach. Doesn't put me in my most hospitable frame of mind. Being greeted by someone armed doesn't exactly bring on the warm fuzzies."
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Today she's running because it makes her feel free and that's a precious thing on the sandbox that's the island. It's just a loop around the same old paths and down the beach, true, but sometimes if she closes her eyes for a moment and just breathes, she can pretend it's somewhere else. Anywhere else.
She pauses, though, when she hears the man just under the trees and stops there, hands on her hips and breath coming in short, sharp pants.
"A drink? Little early, yeah?"
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"You just showed, then, didn't you? On the island?"
Gwen's not that good at explaining it to other people but it helps, somewhat, if they've got a head for things that aren't supposed to exist. Torchwood-type things.
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Maybe if he could identify the realm, he could figure out just where he'd landed himself.
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He'd not sure when life got so fuckin' strange.
"The Hub's not that far from here."
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"What's the Hub, how far is it, and is it late enough they're open and serving?"
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"You don't seem particularly fuckin' worried to have ended up here. Don't tell me - this shit happens to you all the time."
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Standing in full sun for the first time since his life went to shit, Nick took a second to appreciate the warmth of it on his skin before offering his hand to help the other man up. "Nick Gautier."
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Where the hell was he?
"That'd be a no on the knowing where the bar is, but if it helps, I'm glad to hear there are options."
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His right hand was at his side, ready to reach for the shortsword at his back - he was too used to gods and demons fucking with him to relax.
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With a crunch of her boots she stepped out out the shade and into the light glancing around before retreating a few steps back. She was nearly ready to call it quits and head back to her trailer when she spotted a guy standing in the shade catching the tail end of what he said. Smirking she rolled her eyes, hands pulling down her sleeves to cover up her wrist guards.
"Can't help you with that. I left my flask in my other jacket."
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"More's the pity for me, then," he answered slowly, not eased by the smile on her face.
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"Seems like." Arching an eyebrow she started to walk in a lazy arc from one patch of shade to another, keeping her distance. There was no need to approach right away. The question that she asked next was the one that had been hanging on the end of her tongue. It was going to come out sooner or later, might as well get that started. "What the hell sort of thing are you running from?"
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Her question, however, had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm not running from anything. I was having a beer, then I was standing on a beach. Doesn't put me in my most hospitable frame of mind. Being greeted by someone armed doesn't exactly bring on the warm fuzzies."
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