[ dine and dash — it's one of his favourite pastimes, especially in caer glaem. rather than take to the feast with bruises blossoming on his skin as he had previously, its with vigour and joy he keeps locked to himself. he steals a tart here and an apple pie there, and even goes through many goblets of various types of alcoholic beverages, even toasting to mr d out of habit, but never once does he try to thieve some company. it's difficult enough as it is, walking along the eggshells he has purposefully scattered before his feet when it comes to those from home. he wishes for them to lasso him and pull him along on their dumb quests, but he refuses to make any steps in implying he wishes to be in their company, taking to his own quests to avoid them, running as hard and as fast as he can as percy's own words of being a hero stick to his flesh like that of a leech, sucking him dry until he's nothing but the true corpse he should be. ]
[ located in the throng of people, he steals a handful of tarts and thieves a glass, holding it by its stem delicately, as he sidesteps a fairy, making his way toward the outskirts of the feast. with his mouth full, and pulled into a big, happy grin, he almost looks like the boy from camp before everything had gone incredibly wrong. but it doesn't last for too long, unfortunately, with his feet seeming to know the path to take to lead him to revisiting a nightmare he has had over and over ever since she had left. ]
[ it's the hair he spots first, bright and gold, before he notices the odd way in which she stands. it's deja vu all over again, but where she had sat and seemed to pout, she stands, determinedly tall, perhaps remembering the time she had been here before, where he'd carried her off to the clinic as if he was truly her hero when he had merely been the court jester in her story. he thinks to back away and leave, but the boy he used to be — and still is, longing to be that caretaker she had admired with bright eyes and an infectious smile — barrels into him as he moves toward her. he swallows his food, hands still occupied, as he comes to stand somewhat behind her and to the side. ] They're not going to help you here.
no subject
[ located in the throng of people, he steals a handful of tarts and thieves a glass, holding it by its stem delicately, as he sidesteps a fairy, making his way toward the outskirts of the feast. with his mouth full, and pulled into a big, happy grin, he almost looks like the boy from camp before everything had gone incredibly wrong. but it doesn't last for too long, unfortunately, with his feet seeming to know the path to take to lead him to revisiting a nightmare he has had over and over ever since she had left. ]
[ it's the hair he spots first, bright and gold, before he notices the odd way in which she stands. it's deja vu all over again, but where she had sat and seemed to pout, she stands, determinedly tall, perhaps remembering the time she had been here before, where he'd carried her off to the clinic as if he was truly her hero when he had merely been the court jester in her story. he thinks to back away and leave, but the boy he used to be — and still is, longing to be that caretaker she had admired with bright eyes and an infectious smile — barrels into him as he moves toward her. he swallows his food, hands still occupied, as he comes to stand somewhat behind her and to the side. ] They're not going to help you here.