A place for Percy Jackson and the Olympian fans to roleplay.
The harpies that were gathered at Sinbad’s feet scattered and complained, which was really the only implication to Sinbad that someone else had arrived. He threw them more bread before he put on one of his best smiles and glanced up at whoever had walked up. Expecting someone he could flirt with, his smile was wiped clean off his face when he saw that it was the jerk himself: Oliver Young. This is what he got for thinking about the old crew. Out of all people to show up, it had to be him.
“Well, well.” Sinbad took the e-cigarette from his mouth and blew a cloud of vapor into the air around him. “If it isn’t the famous Oliver Young. Did your buddies get tired of you yet, usted densa niño perdido?”
Okay, that was harsh. In his defense, Oliver had said way worse, and lacrosse was a weird sport. Even though his impish smile was gone, he still smirked arrogantly. Sinny put the cig back in his mouth and threw more bread at the harpies.
Sinbad snorted and shook his head. He didn't know what happened with Ollie, who used to be this happy-go-lucky lady-deflector, but he didn't like it at all. He missed when he could insult Oliver and get scolded. Now Oliver insulted him back, which was really weird and really mean. The friends comment stung particularly more than a lot of the other stuff that had been said to him. Probably because they used to be friends not too long ago.
"You're hanging out with a bunch of dudes that look like the definition of 'no-homo'. I wouldn't be bragging." Sinbad looked over at Ollie's "friends" and laughed. He took in another drag and continued. "You're stupid and I'm talking to you. Not to be rude or anything but you're a real d-bag, man. I was supposed to be the problematic one, but you stole my title."
"Yikes." Sinbad mumbled. He wasn't expecting a laugh, the laugh was new. He guessed it was better than Ollie getting offended and mad. In truth, Sinbad could go for a good yelling. No had yelled at him in a while and that was not normal. Wait a minute, maybe they had. Sinny couldn't quite recall whether someone had or hadn't recently, but regardless Oliver wasn't doing to yelling now. The vapor curled out of his nose like a dragon, and he closed his eyes.
"Why did you even come over here? What do I have to offer, besides my looks of course, o Great One?" It was an honest question. Oliver looked like he was just fine over with the boy band. They were well-known, played a sport, and all had the same haircut. Here sat Sinbad, not sure what day it was and feeding harpies because he didn't know where Eve and Emily were. He didn't want to talk to Ollie anyway. Well, he did, but not this one. This one hurt his feelings and scared harpies. He threw more bread and watched the bird ladies flock it.
"I'm not 'bitter', I just don't like talking to someone who sounds like a...dark version of me." Sinbad scoffed and squinted off at a few campers walking to their next lesson. He could be with them if he weren't sitting here talking and feeding birds. He actually found it relaxing, and after his last couple of years he needed to feed some birds. Then as Oliver continued, something strange happened. Sinbad's smile melted, and his face felt warm. He was irritated. He was never irritated when feeding harpies. Hell, he was never irritated.
"Ollie. If I let every person with a 'tude get to me, who would I be? Not the Sinbad you know, tell ya that." Sinbad threw the last slice and balled up the plastic bag that held the bread. He looked back at Oliver and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not gonna lie. I miss you and your stupid stories you used to write about Emily. Dios, do you even write anymore?"
Sinbad snickered at Oliver's embarrassment, having not seen it for a long time. His irritation vanished and he relaxed again. Oh yes, Sinbad read a lot of his stories. Whether or not Oliver had known was the real question, but sometimes Sinny got bored and snooped through his things. Well, he used to anyways when there were younger.
"Seriously? I could have sworn there were a few princesses there who acted and looked just like her." Thinking about Oliver and Emily from way back when caused Sinbad to smile a huge smile that he hadn't done in years. It soon dimmed back to a dazed one when lacrosse was brought back into the conversation. The wave of familiarity had passed and he inhaled more vapor. "Find time. They weren't half bad minus the cheesy endings. And lacrosse isn’t even a real sport."
Sinbad wanted to say for the same reason he makes breakfast burritos for Eve, but he just shrugged instead. He still didn’t know why he made them for her but he was getting a hunch. De todos modos, actually hearing Oliver say that Emily wasn’t his style made Sinbad almost choke on his false cigarette. He never imagined hearing Oliver say that outloud, whether she really was his style or not. Most of his memories consisted of the two “accidentally” pairing up depending on the task. He guessed that hearing Ollie say that made things, he didn’t know, more real? The old Oliver Young was gone and he took the fairytales with him.
“I get it,” Sinbad did not get it; he was lying. “It’s like pitching. The windup looks nice. You try it, you hate it, you dump it and move on. Like a relationship.”
Sinbad laughed like it was joke, but he was getting anxious. He was smiling but his hands twisted at the hem of his jean jacket. His “joke” reminded him of their little friend group slowly breaking apart, and then being left alone once everyone went on their way, because to be completely honest Sinbad was about three years from being in the real world and he had no idea where his life was going if he didn’t have friends going with him. Sinbad might have picked up some separation issues from someone.
“You dumped a lot of things.” He corrected almost immediately, his voice losing its joking nature for a split second. All of that internal worrying made his smile drop and his face turn stony. He went to take another breath of his vapor and realized that he had smoked it all, and instead pocketed the e-cigarette. It wasn’t in his place to tell Oliver what he did and didn’t do wrong with growing up. It wasn’t Sinbad’s life to live, it was Oliver’s. At the same time, he’d lost his good conscience a while ago and somehow had to adjust his laughing-side and anxious-side to be kinder. It was scary to him how easily it was to go from “super chill and rugged son of Hermes” to “I killed a man with this thumb”, but he was started to understand it. At least a little bit. As long as he didn’t have a reason to get serious again in the next few years, he was having a great time adjusting to his emotions. Soon enough, Sinbad felt the ghost of his smile return as he took his dreads out of the ponytail and shook them.
“But who am I to tell you that? We’re all trying to find ourselves some how.” He was back. Philosophical, but back nonetheless.
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by daddeme 6/20/2015, 11:54 am