april catchall [ota + closed starters]

[laruetheday]

Who: Clarisse + you
What: It's aaaa generic birthday mingle! + some closed starters
When: April, particularly around the 15th
Where: Earworm

Content Warnings: Drinking and potentially those Special Mushrooms that are available at Earworm



[ What do you do when you're turning twenty one in a month of perpetual darkness, but your blood type isn't making you hallucinate or want to punch yourself in the face until you fall into a coma for one of the first times since you arrived in Trench?

If you're Clarisse, you park yourself at Earworm and pretty much just stay there.

For the first half of April—particularly on the fifteenth and the days close to it—Clarisse can be found hanging out at the club—either inside already, or lingering near the entrance. If you're already on her (very short) list of friends she's probably texted you an actual invite; but the fact that she's somehow survived another year seems to have her in a good mood, and even if she doesn't know you too well, she'll give a nod when she recognizes you. (Or, potentially, even if she doesn't recognize you.) ]

Drink?

[ ... And, listen, if she's already drunk, she might offer you a mushroom, too. Because why not. ]

Comments

[killtime]

[ Andy shrugs a little. At her age, she knows she's set in her ways — and if that makes her an unpleasant person, well. It is what it is. Old dog and all. ]

Guess that makes this birthday extra special for you.

[ Accepting the drink, she raises it slightly in Clarisse's direction. As wryly as ever: ]

Here's to not dying.

[laruetheday]

[ Clarisse is down with not dying, to a point. (You gotta live long enough to die a heroic death.) She lifts her own glass, but says, ] Like they say, tò peprōménon phygeîn adýnaton.

[ Clarisse, nobody fucking says that. The liquor is bitter going down, and she makes a face without meaning to. ] Shit, that's nasty.

[killtime]

Tò peprōménon phygeîn adýnaton.

[ She answers easily as she drinks — almost like she speaks the old tongue. So maybe there's at least one other person who still says shit like that. Unlike Clarisse though, Andy doesn't flinch at the taste of the liquor. Experienced alcoholic, this one. ]

You'll get used to it eventually.

[laruetheday]

[ Perhaps surprisingly, that gets a small, genuine smile out of her. Surprised, but... pleased, too. ]

You speak ancient Greek? [ Because the way Andy repeated her was too fluid, too casual, to be simple repetition. It implies understanding.

Also—it'd been in the middle of their fight, so she wasn't strictly paying attention, but she's pretty sure the woman had invoked Hera's name, and not in a very nice way. Ballsy. ]

I've drank before. [ You know, cheap beer... cheap wine... cheap vodka... all of the cheap shit that college kids manage to scrounge up for parties. ] Just, I'm pretty sure this stuff was made out of protoplasmic ooze or some shit.

[killtime]

[ It's been a while since Andy had any occasion to speak the old tongue, but it comes back to her more readily than one might expect. After all, she'd spent a long, long time among the ancient Greeks. They were the ones that called her by the name she still keeps now — Andromache, the truest name she has left, now that her own people and their unwritten words have long been extinct. ]

Nobody really speaks ancient Greek anymore. [ Wryly: ] But sure. Yeah. I can get by.

[ She won't call Clarisse out on her inexperience with what Andy would consider to be real alcohol. Instead: ]

Did your dad teach you?

[laruetheday]

[ It's a valid question, something she would've asked if their positions were reversed, but it still has the smile dropping off Clarisse's face abruptly, replaced by an expression that's guarded and defensive. ]

No.

[ It's fine to brag about how your dad's a god, but less so when you have to admit that he doesn't give a shit about you, actually, and that he's never taught you anything, except maybe how to maintain eye contact with someone who's screaming in your face. Clarisse swirls the liquor around in her glass a bit, staring down at it, and then she takes another drink. ]

It's innate, [ she continues finally. ] But I'm not totally fluent. I can read and write it better than I speak it.

[killtime]

[ Now there's an obvious reaction if there ever was one. Daddy issues, huh? Andy can't relate — she doesn't remember a single detail of her blood father, and it's never bothered her. Her mother is a different story entirely, but that woman's been dead for six millennia by now. ]

Well. [ With a twinge of wryness: ] Guess they don't call Ares the god of paternal affection.

[ A half-beat, then she reaches out to clap Clarisse on the back once. ]

Sorry, birthday girl. We don't have to talk about it.

[laruetheday]

Don't feel sorry for me. Gross. [ Clarisse jerks away from the pat on her back like it's burning her. Eugh. Nothing more embarrassing than someone feeling bad for you. And now she's getting riled again, so she continues: ]

And yeah, no shit we don't have to talk about it. You're just some old woman in a bar, not my therapist. [ Everyone knows therapy isn't real, anyway!!! ] And my name's Clarisse, so stop calling me birthday girl. Shit, maybe I lied about today being my birthday. What do you care?

[killtime]

[ That actually earns an amused exhale of breath. Of all the things she's been called in recent memory, some old woman in a bar is probably the most accurate by far. ]

I don't really. [ Care, that is. Maybe a little, because she's apparently carrying a war god's bloodline, and it's cute that she tries to use the old Greek, but birthdays are a thing Andy stopped worrying about a long time ago. Mildly: ] Don't get worked up. I'm not trying to get my nose broken again.

[ Wryly then: ]

Did your mother name you, Clarisse?

[laruetheday]

[ It's the answer Clarisse wanted, but it doesn't really calm her down (not a lot does, to be fair). She drinks some more, figuring that'll help, and after several moments some of the tension seems to leak out of her shoulders. Not all of it, but better some than nothing, right? ]

Yeah, obviously. [ It's sort of muttered, sarcastic, because why would a Greek god give his kid a French name? Even if it does mean "famous." ] My mom is French. Well, sort of, we're American. But her family is French. La Rue is my last name. [ Gods. Getting drunk is making her sound idiotic. ]

[killtime]

It's not a bad name.

[ Despite the usual wryness, she doesn't actually sound altogether insincere about that. And then, because Clarisse has earned it, somewhere between breaking her nose and buying her a drink: ]

I'm Andromache. [ Ἀνδρομάχη, they'd called her. Sometimes Andronika. Sometimes even theá, though that wasn't technically true. ] Mostly just "Andy."

[laruetheday]

"Fighter of men," [ Clarisse says, with some appreciation. Maybe if she weren't drinking she'd be able to hide it better, the way she thinks Andy's name is cool and the way she's trying to connect the dots about her. ]

What's your deal? Are you a demigod too? [ Greek name, speaks ancient Greek, has to be a half-blood, right? ]

[killtime]

That's right. [ Not bad, Clarisse. Not bad at all. ] I had an older name, but the language died. The old Greek version is the only thing left now.

[ Shit like that happens when you're almost seven thousand years old. But Andy has more or less come to terms with it. She really hasn't had much other choice. Humans aren't meant to live as long as she has. Their minds forget after just a few decades. Hell, even just a few years. Things inevitably get lost. ]

Nothing as interesting as that. [ She shrugs a little. ] I'm just human. As far as I know.

[laruetheday]

So you're just some regular normal human who used to have a name that comes from a dead language even older than ancient Greek. That totally makes sense.

[ She turns her glass around in her fingers, thinking it over. ] Time traveler?

[ But she doesn't think that's it (time travel is bullshit, right?) and honestly, she doesn't expect Andy to tell her anyway, and perhaps most surprisingly, she isn't even that mad about it. It'll just give her something to keep trying to guess at. ]

[killtime]

[ Andy actually makes an amused little noise at that guess. ]

Only if living through time is the same as traveling through it. [ Dryly: ] I'm old. That's all. Call it immortality, if you want. But that's not really true either. I'll die. I just haven't yet.

[ That's probably an unimpressive way of describing the whole thing, but it's more or less true. The pseudo-immortality. The curse. Whatever it is. She's seen others like her die — one day, something kills them, and there's no telling why that time was different from all the ones before. There aren't any answers. Just enduring. Living. Waiting. ]

Otherwise, it's not like I have super-strength or anything. I'm definitely not a fucking god. Just human. [ With a sidelong glance at Clarisse: ] Which probably makes you more interesting than me by default.

[laruetheday]

[ Immortality is weird, but Clarisse is used to weird shit, so it doesn't throw her too hard. Hanging around immortals is something she has quite a bit of experience with, actually. And not even just the gods, but beings like Chiron. She's not intimidated, but she is a little impressed to be talking to someone who actually lived through all the wars she's learned about. Not that she'll show it. ]

Damn. So you are just some old woman in a bar. [ She gives Andy a smug little smile, because... she's a brat. ]

Do you get bored? [ she continues after a moment, more thoughtful. ] I think I'd get bored.

[killtime]

Constantly. Fuck.

[ The "old woman" seems amused by Clarisse's question. That's not what people usually ask when they find out she's immortal — though honestly, the occasion to have this talk have always been intentionally few and far between. ]

Can't tell you how much of being immortal is just killing time. Don't know how the gods do it. That's probably why they're always stirring up shit in the old stories.

[ Wryly then: ]

If there's any truth to the old stories at all.

[laruetheday]

[ Clarisse gives Andy an odd look. ] Of course there's truth to them.

[ Because if you accept that the gods exist, you also need to accept the existence of everything else in the myths, right? All the heroes, the stuff they did, the monsters they fought. And Andy didn't call bullshit on the whole "my dad is a god" thing, so... ]

It doesn't seem like they're up to much these days, but they're still just as around as ever. Most people just don't know what they're seeing.

[killtime]

[ Andy shrugs a little in response. Myths are a mixed bag, as far as she's concerned. There are legends about her too — most of them contain a thread or two of truth, but the details get distorted beyond recognition over the centuries. Personally, she doesn't mind it much. Makes it easier to move unnoticed if people expect the myth, when the truth is — it's just like Clarisse said, isn't it? She's just some old woman sitting in a bar. ]

Well, apparently they're still making kids. [ With a mild wryness: ] Wonder if that says something about their divine priorities.

[laruetheday]

[ That gets Clarisse to chuckle into her drink. ]

Uh, yeah, they're definitely still doing that. Even the ones who swore an oath not to. [ Because, you know, oaths made on the river Styx are made to be broken, or whatever. ]

[killtime]

Good to know the word of a god is worth shit all.

[ Not terribly surprising though. Gods do what they want. That's how gods work, isn't it? That's definitely how she did things, when they worshipped her as a god. Wasn't healthy — but who the fuck was gonna try and tell her that? ]

You kids have a support group for demigods or something? [ Wryly: ] Probably wouldn't hurt.

[laruetheday]

[ She's just gonna... not comment on that, because agreeing with Andy would feel like betraying the gods. Andy is correct, though—the gods do what they want. Clarisse's silence probably says as much. ]

There's a training camp. Satyrs find little demigods and bring them there before they get eaten by monsters or whatever.

[killtime]

Some fucking training camp if most of you end up dying anyway.

[ She should probably stop judging how the gods and their ilk do things in another universe. But what the hell are those gods going to do to her anyway? Besides, Andy's been blasphemous for at least the last several thousand years, and she isn't one to change her habits. Old dog, new tricks. ]

What happens to all the little demigods after that?

[laruetheday]

[ Clarisse shrugs in response. People die all the time (unless they're immortal, excuse her), and demigods at least make up for it by getting to do some cool shit beforehand. ]

Lately a lot of us have been going to college. [ For... some reason. ]

[killtime]

[ That earns a skeptical little look. ]

College.

[ Which... is perfectly reasonable for modern young people to do. Andy never bothered, of course — by the time such institutions were commonplace, she was several thousand years old already — but that doesn't mean she disapproves, exactly. It just seems... ]

Weirdly normal, for a bunch of divine half-bloods.