remembering.

miss jackson, miss jackson, miss jackson

the son of hades trudged along the narrow, muddy path, his shoes soaked and socks anyways. damon wasn't in a particularily good mood today; he was grumpy most of the time, and intorverted for sure. he was a son of hades, and just like that guy nico had said sometimes, children of hades didn't belong, really. sure, the camp tried to act like 'oh hades please bow down to hades the lord of the dead yes cool hades!' and 'woah you're a child of the big three? aweso-- wait, hades?... oh, thats cool. yeah... cool.' damon was used to that. there was a reason he put up his walls to block others. he was a big deal, and wow, his powers where neat, he had to admit, but honestly? being a son of hades, apart from the powes, kind of sucked. i mean, being a child of the big three was difficult, because you had virtually no siblings at all and naturally where kind of idolized sometimes, but a child of hades was the worst thing to be. poseidon kids were heroes ever since percy jackson, they were the cool sea kiddos with the cool green eyes. zeus kids were neat, they were the sons and daughters of the king of the gods -- they were the golden kids, the golden retrievers under demigods. the ones everyone wanted in their family. but children of hades? nico de angelo had turned the tides a bit, but hades kids were the outsiders galore, the ranking officers in the army of intorverts. damon hated it.

waves of anger rippled off of him, enough to make other kids shiver. of course, in his presence, they actually kinda... did. but see, if damon's angry, the ground under him frosts over and the grass turns yellow and wilts and dies and -- yeah, not very nice. it made people even more afraid of the poor guy. well, damon didn't exactly say he was poor his step family was kind of overly-rich seeing that his step dad owned like, fifteen gazillion supermarkets across america. nah, just kidding. he owned, like five. but still enough to make the family pretty rich. rich enough that they could get a private jet to paris in the summer. that was only one summer, but still. kind of impressive. and for damon to say that... well, you would be surprised what things he find impressive other than the underworld and tartarus. so for his comparison; it was pretty impressive.

back to damon, though, in his angry-ness and killing the grass-ness. he was wearing a leather aviator jacket with a furry beige-ish collar, some simple black jeans, a pair of black supra high tops, a my chemical romance tank top and his necklace, which transformed into his wicked stygian iron sword. he huffed as he stepped onto a delicate rose at the edge of the memorial, even the nymphs didn't dare tell him off for such a thing. he gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his messy brown curls, shadows pulsating almost around him. you could see where damon had stepped, he left a long trail of frost where he went. it was starting to melt behind him, but slowly. there was a bench overlooking the small hill at the edge of the forest; where the graves stood with the names of those who died in the titan war. his eyes flickered around the sunny green; shielding his eyes from the bright sun with his hand. he stood up again, shuffling towards the edge of the forest, a more shady part of the place. he leaned against a tall pine tree, the bark scratching his old leather jacket, his slid one hand in his jeans pocket, the other fumbled with his necklace.

he thought about the time in the underworld, the way some of the ghosts had offered giving him a tour. probably just to cash him in to his father, but hades never even knew damon was back there. he had absent mindedly visited asphodel; a sorry sight to most. people walking around, aimlessly playing cards and talking in whispers that weren't quite quiet, it made the whole thing really eerie; you could hear the whispers of people probably half a mile away from you. then there was tartarus... yeah, no. lets not go there. and the fields of punishment. he remembered seeing a young boy; he was around sixteen, maybe? he was being stabbed constantly by some kind of weird monster thing that was tied to a stake. damon left before he saw any more of it. then there was elysium; really, a neat place. there were these crazy guys in their mid life crisis who partied nonstop. and don't even get him started on the isles of the blest. that was simply epic. damon found the whole thing really depressing, however. so many people who had a life; something that they could've done something with. mostly there was just really old people, he was fairly sure he had seen his great gran in asphodel somewhere. weird thought.

damon exhaled quietly, letting the cold air seep out of his mouth and pale lips. he wasn't particularily tan; he spent most of his time in the shadows and indoors, as most underworld kids did. it was just kind of this one thing that made damon damon. he was really white. like, really white.

miss jackson, miss jackson, miss jackson

damon heard a voice behind him. he turned around slowly, a blank expression on his pale face. a girl was standing around, what, ten feet away from him. damon stared at her for a while. he coud just shadow-travel away quickly, but he was tired as it is. he didn't need any more tiredness, to be honest. he stared at the girl some more. "why aren't you in bed?" he asked, no expression whatsoever on his face once more. the shadows around him pulsated, moving with damons thoughts and concerns. he eyed the girl down. "isn't it past curfew? the campfire just ended." he murmered, allowing a sly smile to spread across his face, eyes glittering with soft amusement. his hands flicked across the ground, the shadows echoeing his movements all around him. you could almost see the ground beneath him dying. damon focused on the ground, closing his eyes. the air seemed to grow colder around him, almost, as the ground beaneath him erupted slightly, and a skull came to view. it was the size of damons head, so it might've been a demigods skull. possibly. he picked it up, the bone illuminated in the soft evening light. the sun was setting around now, the sky darkening to a rich orange. he held the bone in one hand, the other slipped into his pocket. his fingers looped into where the eye sockets were, making it dangle beneath his hand in such a morbid way, most people would run away in anxiety. his eyes glittered, feeling the hundreds of bones beneath him -- soldiers, and normal humans who had lost their lives years and years ago. damon tilted his head to one side, frowning. "who're you?" he asked the girl in a low voice, the frost creeping out beneath his wet shoes.