Up on the Housetop || Open

[Deleted]

Okay. Not house top. More like... barrack top. Whichever... Edmund sighed, his hands behind his head, his dark brown eyes gazing at the sky. He didn't even know what time it was, but he liked it out here, so he was going to stay. It was better than being in his barrack bed at any rate. If anyone wanted to call him out on it, he was technically obeying the curfew. He may not have been in his barrack, but he was there in a sense. He was ON the roof, for gods sakes. Push him down a few feet, and there he was, IN the barrack. Besides, there was no point in him even going to bed: he only really used it for like, what? Three hours at best? No. He wasn't going to turn into bed only to toss and turn and not even go to sleep. He was going to stay out here, under the stars, where at least he could see some beauty. At least out here, at this late hour, he could wood carve in solitude without anyone bothering him.

He remembered going up onto the roof at Em's house. He'd creep up (much like what he did here), and just stare at the stars, wondering if his parents and sister were looking down at him. Wondering if they still loved him or if they hated him. That all got spoiled by coming to this camp. There was no freaking heaven. All the dead were below them. Above them, were just the gods of Mount Olympus. Somewhere, up there, the gods that were there at the time (since, face it, a lot of the egotistical bastards had started invading camp. Something Ed was not taking too kindly to) were looking down. They were probably either laughing or scoffing at this camp, the demigods, and the mortals of earth. The sudden thought of that made him sick. All the Earthlings were all just freaking pawns in their stupid, eternal play; all just for their never ending amusement. Sure, the old actors would die, but new ones would be born to replace them, and the cycle would continue. Didn't they have anything better to do than mess around with lives and pop out kids that they never were going to be there for?

Besides, it was vastly unfair to the mortal. Not many were told exactly what kind of love affair they were getting into when they decided to bed a god. It was just sort of like: Hey! I got you knocked up, congratulations. Now: I'm going to leave. It may break your heart, it may not, whichever; however, at any rate, you're going to have a kid that may or may not not live until they're ten because monsters will be after them. You may also get your house destroyed. On the chance they do survive, send them to Camp Jupiter at age ten. They may get eaten by a wolf, but it's for the best! Then leave your child there, year round, for ten years with minimal contact. Their childhood will get stripped and they will get the crap beaten out of them as they are morphed into a Roman solider. Then, he used to day dream about his family. Now, he just stared at the stars as something to fill his sleepless hours.

OOC: Yeah, had a lot of Ed muse...
Can you say Ed rant? >.< Sorry, I mean no offense to the people who play gods here D:
IC: 569

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How long had it been since Mors had made any time for himself? Perhaps the last time was when he had someone to spend it with, but now Mors had none. He had plenty of other immortals to pass time with, but he saw them often enough in passing. Mars in particular, there was always death where he went. Unless there was some mortal he was sweet on, then there would be another demi-god. It seemed as if with the growth of humanity, demi-gods also grew in number. There were two camps for the children already, and both had enough to start a small army. He had finished his work for the night, and decided it may be time to take some time for himself. It took many people suggesting the same thing for centuries, but he was beginning to change his ways.

The night was cool, crisp and clear, Mors could not help but spread his wings and take flight. It had been quite a while since he had actually flown through the night air, with the moon at his back. It was incredibly refreshing. The flutter of his feathers in the wind, his hair flitting back and forth with his motions. A turn here, a loop there, Mors was simply enjoying himself flying about the skies. He slowly made his way over Camp Jupiter, something hostile appearing in his thoughts. He hauled his progress, maintaining a hover as he adjusted the shadows over his wings causing their white color to change to a dark black. He looked over everything, keeping an eye and ear out for whatever was inside the camp. Slowly he tuned into the thoughts, and understood them. The shadows over his wings shifted, and they regained their pure white color. A boy on the roof of the first cohort sat with his back towards Mors, gazing up at the stars. Quietly the winged being made his way over to the roof, and let his soft black leather loafers touch down. He did not care if he was seen, and in fact wished the boy to notice him before he spoke. He had no wish for the boy to be startled and fall, today was not his death day and it may take a bit of explaining to Vulcan what happened.

“Good evening child.” he said in a cool calm voice, folding his white wings back into his black jacket. “Your thoughts blare over what could be considered a large radio. So much anger, I had thought you to be a threat to the camp.” he said, his steps soundless on the roof as he walked closer to Edmund. “Sitting here, with meditating on such things in the middle of the night may draw unwanted attention from the very deities you bash.” he stopped only a few meters from Edmund, regarding him carefully. He hoped those very thoughts had not called a less forgiving god to his side, but Mors would not place any bets on it. They had been very loud, and filled with deep emotion.

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Edmund sighed slightly, laying down on the roof with his hands behind his head, knees bent, and gazing up at the scars. He tried to erase the fact that the gods were up there, leering down at them; tonight, he was just trying to look at the stars for what they were: beautiful stars. Against his mind's wishes, his thoughts began to wander. Throughout the years, his body had eventually adjusted to the three hours or less of sleep with catnaps when he could. He always hated sleeping, mostly because that's when the nightmares would come. There was seldom a time when he fell asleep and the nightmares didn't come. Night terrors were all he could remember. It was all he had known after the fire. He mostly tried to keep his mind busy because he didn't want to think or remember, but sometimes, it just happened... like on nights like this. He would find himself ranting silently to the gods and wondering about his family. The latter was usually too painful, so he would use all his energy on the former: becoming increasingly angry. Emotionless and angry. Yup, those were Ed's levels of emotion (or rather, lack of).

He suddenly sat up, no longer at peace. Ed reached into his pocket to finish up the ambrosia that Kyoto had given him. Edmund had come to the near end of his dosage. He couldn't even remember how long he had been on the stupid meds. The only reason he actually took the prescribed meds this time was because he was facing a possible surgery. He wasn't sure if it was this the last dosage he was going to take before Kyoto gave him the potential "death sentence" or not. He really really really did not want another surgery... and that's when he heard light footsteps on the roof. If not for the Roman training and his ADHD, he wouldn't have noticed, but as it just so happened that Edmund Simons had seven years of Legion training and ADHD. The footsteps told him that someone had decided to disturb him up here. Gods darn it! It was a strange hour, night time, and he was on a gods forsaken roof. What did he have to do to get some solitude!? Put up a darn sign that said "Leave Me Alone" or "Do Not Disturb"? "What do you want?" he snarled, whipping around.

It took a few movements for Ed's eyes to adjust to the lighting (provided only by the moonlight), but when they finally did, he saw a tall, winged being. The heck was this? Then it spoke in a voice almost the same as Ed's: calm, emotionless. Then the world "child" came out. Cue eye roll. It seemed as if he was having the reverse of his desired effect: he had attracted the darn immortals rather than warding them away. Could the stupid immortals could read minds now? Did they want to come down here just to annoy him?! Edmund wasn't in the mood for this crap tonight. "Simons to you," he said in his own emotionless, yet curt voice. At this point, he even caring he was talking to a god. As Mors started talking, the seventeen year old rolled his eyes, scowling down at his legs. Even though the weather was getting warmer, Edmund was still in long pants, just as always. They covered his scars from the fire; the scars and the skin grafts. At Mors' convictions, the demigod scoffed. "Right. Like you."

IC: 606

[Deleted]

It had been such a nice night, so pleasant, the stars above, like diamonds in a dark sea. This young boy, a child in Mors eyes, was more than upset by the gods for whatever reason he had. Mors was unable to discern his exact thoughts, but the feelings and emotions where there. It was easy to read the prayers people thought to you directly, or spoke aloud no matter where a god was, but these where simply emotions thrown at the gods in general. Many would have not cared about them, but Mors was attempting to take a more proactive role, and his dear grandchild stayed in this camp. He would not wish her to be disturbed by a hate filled creature such that was in front of him.

“There are too many Simmons, or Edmund’s to even attempt to keep track of child. Should you wish I call you by a name you must become more acquainted with me, however I highly doubt you would wish that.” His voice showed no anger, no pain, no emotion. Mors did not care about this whelp of a demi-god, for good or ill. He had no dislike for him, nothing that could be considered even remotely emotional ran through his cold heart, or his doll like face. What he called the boy was none of his concern, and what the boy called him was none of his.

Mors could hear the slight anger in his voice, the child had done much to attempt to remove all caring from himself. The cut of his voice was only slightly laced with his emotions, but sarcasm and annoyance dripped from every word. Mors could hand it to the boy, he did well containing the rage he has hissed out at the first knowledge of presence behind him. He talked little, much unlike Mors. This child seemed to contain himself rather easily after his first outburst, perhaps it would have been different should Mors have not been a god. He did not know who this boy was, other than a name and death date.

“Exactly. However I have become used to being unwelcome company. Few desire death.” Mors felt as if it sounded more dramatic than he had meant, however it was true. There were few who greeted him kindly after they found who he was. Mors had not been greeted so angerly in some time, at least not immediately. He supposed he did not often come across people who were angry at the world at the time of death either. Not this kind of angry any way, perhaps the silent kind.

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It had been a nice night. Had been. And then something had to come to ruin it. And it had been all his fault. Wasn't that always the case? Demigod failure Edmund Simons who couldn't do anything right and whatever he did was wrong. Accurate. The seventeen year old couldn't remember what the last night with his family had been like. That memory was gone, just like nearly every other memory that he had ever possessed of his life before the legion. For some reason, he only remembered pancakes and chicken parmesan; everything else was gone... that day was probably just so... regular. And then he had to turn nine... and kill his entire family. It was never said in the house that it had been his fault but he knew it was. Coming here and getting "claimed" just solidified it. Who else could make a well working, completely functional fuse box blow up because of a nightmare? Edmund gritted his teeth, his mind going back on lock down. He had to let his mind wander... idiot. What was wrong with him? Especially since he was around a freaking god.

"Fine. Whatever," Ed shrugged. As long as the name wasn't endearing, he'd be find with it. Probie, Jerk, Idiot, Boy, Forge Boy, or Forge Monkey, he could deal with. Dear, Child, Baby, or Eddie? No. Forget it. "The thought is non existent," the demigod said, his voice returning to flat, but his dark brown eyes turning into a glare at Mors. It wasn't just Mors that he disliked though. Oh no, it was just the gods in general with their total egotistical, all mighty, "hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but raise my demigod kid who may die or get eaten by wolves before the age of ten maybe?" attitude. Gods didn't care about the demigods and Edmund didn't care about the gods. They could just stop existing for all he cared. Everyone on earth would probably be better off: no heaven, no hell, no religion, nothing. People lived, life sucked just because it was life, not because it was controlled by the gods, and then they died just because it was the end of their life.

The thought disgusted him, but he was the same as Mors in a sense: he was used to being unwelcome company. He wasn't sure if Mors worked for trying to be unwelcome or not though. It probably came with being the secretary of death, just like being Edmund entailed being a functional mute, creepy lurker, and antisocial forge jerk. Then the second part of the emotionless god's statement. Emotionless god with emotionless demigod. Sickeningly fitting. Not everyone wished death. "Right," Edmund said, his voice staying at his usual, calm, emotionless level.

IC: 471

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The adrenaline high which coursed through him had diminished, he hadn't realize how ready he had been for a fight at that moment. The moment he felt anger and hatred, it had sparked him into action and yet here he was, talking with a mortal. Speaking as if there was nothing happening and this child was not supposed to be in bed, or that he should not be on the roof of a building. That was all passed over. A slight sigh escaped him, releasing what was left of his fighting energy. He did not often fight, it almost never happened. He simply escorted souls to the underworld where they would be processed. His cold blue eyes focused on Edmund, a boy who could easily be spotted as a forger. Taking a heavy hammer to heated metal will do that. Mors saw the flex of his jaw, along with the signs of tell tale jaw clenching. Something humans liked doing a lot, biting their lips or clenching their jaws. Mors never quite saw the appeal of it.

The mortal answered him curtly, his words showing more than his tone. “As I had guessed then. I will continue to call you child until the day you die.” he stated, calmly with the cold edge of his own unique logic. Mors prided himself on his logic, but could be a stubborn child when it came to his own ways of thinking. A trait he would never admit. The boy threw a glare at him, his voice seemed near emotionless but his body language betrayed him greatly. The words he chose, and that look in his eyes were plain as day. Mors could not help but wonder the use of keeping a calm voice when you wore the emotions in such a way. He did a fair enough job keeping a straight face though, Mors would have to hand him that. Perhaps it was simply the difference of lives, and age.

“I am curious, do you have a reason for this anger towards gods at this moment? Or perhaps this is a life long despise you have for us. May I have the reason either way?” the question was something that simply popped into Mors head. It was nothing he cared too much about, and would be fine with nearly any answer. So long as it was his truth, because Mors did enjoy learning about people sometimes. It could be a slightly cruel pass time, learning about people and how they worked. Not simple the good things, but the ill also. He had not spoken to one about their feelings on a matter for a good amount of time, just been watching them silently.

Mors attempted to shield any words the child spoke about the gods, from their ever burning ears. He had asked the question, so no matter what was said Mors would attempt to keep it between them. It was not an obvious shield, and it was not as if Edmund had said anything about specific gods before hand. If her had there may have been lightning striking him, or perhaps an arrow from no where would strike him between the eyes.

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From the time he was a little kid, Edmund had always had more the darker, angrier, sinister genes than his sister had. His temper at school was volatile best after a certain age, with the teachers having to refocus him every five minutes and all the kids staring. He had gotten over that after years of school transfers. Heck, it carried over to here, hadn't it? Always the rebellious, against authority, belligerent Edmund Simons. The teachers didn't exactly appreciate Ed's strangulation of one or two students and then justifying it by calling them a "monster" (even though they were, well, Roman monsters). Another one way ticket to expulsion was roof climbing. That's right, Em house and the Legion weren't the only times he had climbed up on roofs. He had done it on his own house with Meghan. The view had been beautiful. He couldn't remember Meg's face, but he could remember what the view from on top of his roof looked like. What was wrong with him? From there on, he wanted to look at places from high up. The school was a tall building, so there had been one or two instances where he had gone to the top of the school. Yup, one way ticket to expulsion. All for the sake of some solidarity and a nice view. No loud kids, no stares, no name calling, no boring lessons, no letters swirling and dissapearing into the chalk board.

"Whatever," Edmund replied curtly, looking back out over his view of the Camp from the roof. He wasn't exactly sure if "child" was under the list of endearing terms, but Mors, in his emotionless voice sounded more like dry sarcasm to him. Ed could live with that; he had lived through much worse. His desensitization switch had been thrown on a long time ago. The only way to get a true reaction out of him was to make him angry; that could easily be done by hugging him or calling him an affectionate or praise giving name. His dark eyes flickered over a few of Camp's structures: black boxes in the shadows of the night. Is this what it looked like to the gods? At night, just a bunch of places and houses with an occasional light? At day, the same structures just with people milling around, running around, not aware that they were being played? That they were all pawns in the gods' immortal game of chess? Perhaps one day they should just stop reproducing. Put a stop to all this madness. But then again, humans would keep on living. Living for as long as they could. That was the mentality of most normal people, anyway.

Ed's gaze stayed on the dark shadows as Mors asked his questions. He kept his mouth shut until he was quite finished. After the three or so questions, he opened his mouth to give his very simple answer to all of them in one shot: "No." In all honest, modern talk (if they had it at Camp) Ed wouldn't have any problem running a Twitter feed. His normal speech patters were nearly always less than 150 characters. Direct, blunt, and to the point. Edmund wasn't sharing anything with this god. He wasn't talking about that stuff to anyone. There were just some things that went unsaid, unspoken, and to the grave.

OOC: Ed the conversationalist >.>
IC: 572

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It had been such a lovely night for flying, had being the key word. Granted the state of the night had not changed, it was only this boy who spoke in the shortest possible answers that gave it a displeasing feel. Not only because of what he said, or the way he said it, but those thoughts he had scarcely heard from him earlier. Not so much his thoughts, but the emotions that filled them. Now that Mors was there, if he wished it was a simple task for a god to peak in on a mortals thoughts. Of course Mors would do no such thing, mortals had disturbing enough minds without death prowling through them. He was slightly happy the anger was not focused on the camp, but he had to be sure. His grandchild was there, and he had neglected her safety enough already. With a few soft steps, not as light as he would use around his sleeping brother, Mors made his way forward. Long elegant legs treading across the roof, making sure to not wake those who slept underneath.

Mors knew exactly what this child wanted, to be left alone to broad on his own. He would certainly be glad to do so normally, but he was attempting to get at least slightly involved in the camp. He dealt with humans on a daily basis, it should have been easy. He had not quite factored in how much he despised interacting with humans though. Just liked looking at them, watching them from afar. This 'talking' was out of his comfort zone, and was rather glad this one did not question in the same way the curious one did. He supposed he knew her well enough to call her by name, however calling her Charlie, Charlotte, or Jolly just felt off. He much preferred the pet name he had for her. Possibly Mckenzie, or little Mack. It would be something to play around with later, when there were not people around. Like at his home. He hoped Mercury wouldn't be lurking around the corner when he did practice, how long had it taken for him to stop picking on him last time?

“You are not a fan of speaking I presume? Then I shall ask a more straight forward question, and I do hope to get a better answer or we may be here longer. Do you pose, or wish to pose, or have ever wished to pose any threat against this camp, or it's contents?” Mors spoke in his natural emotionless voice, with an emotionless face to back it up. Sitting down he looked over the camp at what this child was looking at. Even in his own mind he did not wish to call the boy by his name. He knew too many good people by Edmund, or Simmons, to wish to associate them with someone he did not know. This time however he would make sure to know a minimum of the boys thoughts, enough to know if he was lying. He guessed this one was not a fan of lying, and simply enjoyed telling people exactly how it was. He could never be sure though.

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Why couldn't the gods just go away and leave things the way they were? The Legion had been functioning just fine before all of them decided to arbitraryily swoop in and "take interest" in the Camp. "Take interest" as in to mess around with their kids and then disappear out of their lives again. It wasn't like they were there on a day to day basis. They only cared when it suited them. Idiots. Seriously, however many years of not seeing them, and then POOF, HERE WE ARE! Mars, then Mercury, and now Mors. All Ms and all Males. How M convenient. Then again, there was Prometheus and Diana too, but they hadn't been around as much as of late. No loss there. Fewer gods meant fewer possibilities of him getting turned into an animal. Fewer animal transformations meant less of a chance of him getting surgery. Less chance, but not a zero chance because nearly all the freaking gods had their freaking fun and had turned him into various animals. No thanks to them, his rib shrunk. Edmund thought he could live with a shrunk rib, but Kyoto didn't think so. Oh if only the gods could die...

Mors was no different than everyone else at this freaking camp. He was still annoyingly there, and even had the nerve to move closer. Edmund felt a very subtle vibration in the cohort roof's tiling as the god started walking. Even though the god was approaching, Edmund kept his spot on the roof and kept his dark brown eyes staring at the structures in front of him; nothing was going to move him, immortal, non immortal, close contact, or otherwise. Ed hoped it didn't come to close contact, but he doubted that most people here understood the definition of "personal bubble". It was as if they couldn't read body language, or even understand English. Did he have to go around talking in Latin? Well, at least the god wasn't talk- or not. Edmund thought too soon. Suddenly Mors was closer to him... and even worse, had hoped his mouth again. Did gods always have to speak in long, fancy sounding, drawn out phrases?

Edmund, once again, kept his mouth shut until Mors was completely finished. No reason to waste his breath on the first question: if the god didn't know the answer to that by now, it was true; all the immortals really were incompetent imbeciles. The question Mors posed barely fazed him. The demigod's calm gaze settled on the forge roof and remained unmoving for the next few moments as silence feel back over the spring night at the Legion. Even after the silence had a few minutes to settle, Ed didn't even look at the god, much less open his mouth. He stayed silent, simply because there was no answer to give. No words and nothing to say. It was a great example of one of those things that he was going to bring to the grave. Even if there was an audible answer, the chances of Edmund saying it out loud combined with him telling the truth about it? Zero to negative infinity numbers.

OOC: .... Mors really expected him to answer that?
IC: 537

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His eyes focused on nothing in particular, he regarded the camp with what he hoped was a level head. The camp all lay in a neat structure. He enjoyed that, perfectly in order and easy to navigate. The cohort barracks were all separated from each other, and still more for females and males. The span in the middle left room for an entire regiment to march through the center, and it was rather obvious where they formed up in the mornings. The grass was worn down to the dirt from countless children standing at attention in front of their centurions. Children commanding children, though Mors wondered if after what many of them had gone through in their lives if they were still children. Surely many were more grown than some of the gods, though infinite power and immortality will do that to an individual. Mortal needed to grow up or die, the gods did not have such a problem. As long as they did not anger their wife it seemed, though Juno had been angered many times by Jupiter and suffered little. It was always the women and their children that suffered, and Mors disliked several of the stories associated with the man. He decided to put it from his mind, no use getting angry over it centuries later. Anger drained ones energies anyway.

Some times passed before Mors concluded he was in fact not going to answer his question. He supposed that was better than lying, though the child had quite some nerve refusing to answer a direct question from a god. “I see.” he said quietly. If the child though he would simply be quiet and Mors would leave he was dreadfully wrong. He was not sure why the boy would think a thing like that, had any of the gods ever been quiet? Any of them? They talked quite a lot, and if he ever met that Apollo he would undoubtedly loose an ear from his yammering.

Mors was not good at this dealing with children thing. He was normally one quiet one listening to the other party, this was indeed backwards. When dealing with some of the other gods he was sure he knew how annoying it could be to be talked at, while wishing the other would stop and you could go back to what you were doing. He had become accustomed to it over the centuries though, and his tone was often dry but he would obliged them. That may have been the reason Mercury was always at his house. He would always sit and listen to what they had to say, and he would actually listen because his mind could not help but file every bit of information away.

It was quite some times before he spoke again. “You do realize I am not leaving until I receive a proper answer from you, do you not?” He had nothing else to do for the night, and if necessary he could make another version of himself to attend to anything in the world. It would be another split for his mind to be in, as if there weren't enough already, but he would stay until this child talked of his own free will. This is going to be a long night.

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Mors being semi close to him: not the most horrible thing that could happen. Edmund could live with a little personal bubble intrusion. At least he wasn't getting hugged or anything. The seventeen year old didn't exactly take Mors to be a hugger, so that was a slight plus. The fact that he was a god and still here kind of overrode that though. His eyes continued to drift from structure to structure, easily picking out the different buildings from the shadows and distance from his point of view. When he had first come into Camp Jupiter, he thought that teaching him how to navigate around here would be hopeless. That was saying something, since he had had to find his way around a new school every two years. The Legion had seemed so big to him. Certainly much more land mass than he had ever covered in one given area. That was when he was ten and in shock. Seven years later, it had shrunk considerably. Almost like a school that was all on one level. Now, could walk to places without even thinking. The route. He had to be on the look out for stray missiles from practice though, most of the time.

The extended silence afterwards calmed Ed down a smidge. Silence, like mechanical objects, was his friend. Or as close as a friend as he could get. It was what he was most comfortable with at any rate. Talking with another person usually meant a second party (him) had to answer. Throughout the years though, Edmund had learned it was better to say little, or just nothing at all. Most people didn't care, others were just too stupid, and the the rest he'd get into trouble with, regardless if he opened his mouth or not. And then Mors had to break that beautiful silence with a simple answer. Again, Edmund didn't respond. What was there to respond to? Did Edmund know that it was rude to not answer a direct question, especially from a god? Well, from his reaction... he hoped the answer was obvious. The art of inference was always good to have. If Mors wanted an answer, too bad! He wasn't getting one. The demigod had his mind set on that. And when his mind was set, little could be done to change it.

Another silence stretched and Edmund took to gazing up at the stars again, acting like Mors wasn't even there. Going about his business as he had been doing before the immortal popped/flew/whatever-gods-did up. He knew that it was rare that the "if I ignore it, it will go away" tactic would work, especially here, but Edmund didn't care. He'd do as he wanted; right now, that included ignoring this god since he wasn't engaging in conversation. If Mors came up with something important enough, he'd talk again. Edmund's dark eyes gazed at the countless stars above him. Somewhere was the Big Dipper. He had a vague memory of a blurry face and hazy voice telling him how to find it. Edmund's head was resting on a shoulder as a long arm and a large hand pointed at the night sky, tracing various constellations. They were on the roof again. Then there was another hazy voice, almost as if someone put a muffler over it so he couldn't hear it properly. It was softer, sweeter, but it was scolding something about doing dangerous things on the roof. The body against him laughed. Edmund remembered feeling the great vibrations of the older male's chest and then a voice inviting the woman onto the roof with them....

Edmund's meager memory was whisked away as Mors opened his mouth again. It was the one time Edmund could remember a tiny snippet of his past life (no matter how vague, hazy, short, or blurry), and the stupid immortal had to ruin it! The demigod felt a flash of annoyance zoom through his system and still kept his mouth shut. The silence would probably give the god his answer. Then again, Mors disturbing his thoughts was also probably good since Edmund wasn't supposed to be thinking about those things.

OOC: Yeah Mors. This is gonna be a LOOOOOOOOONG night xD
IC: 714

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Not a single ounce of reply, no intention to reply, nothing at all came from the demi-god next to him. It grew slightly annoying, being ignored when he was attempting to talk to someone. He was used to people not seeing him, or talking to him, or knowing he was there, but that was all by choice. He made it so the humans could not know he was there, but this was not such a case. Mors did decide to check again in case he was simply being an idiot and was in fact invisible again, but no. He was correct that he was being purposely ignored. Mors was quite the patient man, and had no qualms about sitting there for as long as needed, but he was getting the distinct impression that this child would wait longer. Something seemed just a bit different, as if the boy was more stubborn than any god he had met. Surely that could not have been true, because he had met Mars. Mors was pretty sure there existed none more bull headed than he. Interestingly enough he called that very man his friend, though he could never come up with a solid reason to. The same could be said about Mercury, no solid reason to call him friend but there it was. Some odd ball friendship that existed between them.

His eyes continued to trace the camp, making notes about what had changed and what hadn’t since he had last had a good look at it. It was always nice that this place had a tendency to stay the same, even if it had been around for a relatively short time. Short for Mors anyway, having been born before time existed will completely mess a person up when there was suddenly time. People began to keep time, and in such they began to measure it. Humans seemed to keep much better track of how much time was left than how much time had passed. Most of them anyway.

Another long silence, yes this boy certainly was just going to sit there and pretend her did not exist. He was not sure what to do, this conversation thing did not happen very often. He was not normally trying to get information from people. If he needed something it was always the person's soul to just migrate along to the Underworld, nothing big and complicated about it. If they didn't like it he need just pick them up and throw them. Though he preferred not to do that, except with certain people. He pushed the thought from his head, need not sour his mood worse. After a moment Mors reached into the shadows of his jacket pulling out a day planner. It had many things inside, including a great deal of information on people. “If you don't talk I will. Edmund Ryan Simmons, Son of Vulcan and Alexia Simons...”

[Deleted]

credit to me o.o

Edmund's full intention was to just ignore the god. Purposefully. He honestly had nothing to say to him anymore and nothing was more appreciative to him than silence. He really had nothing to say to the gods except a rant full of hatred that basically spelt out "screw all of you" (which he had kind of unleashed a few minutes ago, but in all reality could write a few note books full of reasons). His thoughts, words, and actions would in no doubt, get him into trouble, but Ed was far from caring. He had gotten into trouble far too much to care anymore. Punishment and reprimands were old: they would go right over his head, barely fazing him. He would speak his mind and give the truth on what he thought about people. That included people didn't like: mainly the gods. If they didn't like it, they could take it out with him (which usually happened at any rate). If they just decided to smite him or punish him with powers, it was just another way to prove that they were little children who couldn't take an insult without overreacting and throwing a tantrum by using their powers.

Mors would go away. All of them eventually did and Edmund wasn't moving until the immortal did. He was stubbornly set on it. He exhaled slightly. Several times, by either daydream or nightmares, he had almost seen their faces and heard their voices. Almost. But every time he was so close to seeing them without a blurry sheet over his eyes or hearing them without a muffled sound, he'd either be disturbed, or he'd wake up. Forget dreams, he always had nightmares. So close to something to something almost pleasant, yet so far at the same time. As the silence stretched, Edmund tried to strain his memory for anything: smell, shape of their eyes, voice... favorite animal. The only favorite thing he could come up with for Meg though were the planes. Mainly because one of the only things he remembered her doing was begging for him to make her a flying one. After a long lull of silence though, he was still no closer to personality or physicality remembrance. He was failing. Again.

Beside him, Mors started to move. It wasn't to leave though; it was to take out a... book? Oh right, he guided people back to the underworld. That would have to take some organization. Then, as if to make this visitation even more unpleasant than it already was, Mors had to open his mouth again. The first sentence, he didn't mind. Edmund would keep his silence while Mors blabbed on and on about whatever, he was fine with that. That was usually how people interacted with Edmund. He'd, for the most part, stay quiet while they talked or didn't talk. It was the next sentence that put him slightly on edge. For one, Mors decided to use his full name. He hadn't heard that used in a long, long time. The last time he had heard it, his parents were giving him his fifth "you got expelled from another school" talk. Basically, it was only used when he was in deep trouble at home. For the second part, Mors used his parentage. Only the second part was true. "I'm not his son," Ed corrected coldly. No. Not son of that god. He was Edmund Simons, Son of No One; it was either that, or Edmund Simons: Antisocial Forge Boy. He really didn't care. Just as long as it wasn't connected with a god.

OOC: Hmmm originally had a more depressing ending but decided to save it xD
IC: 611

[Deleted]

It seemed the boy was not fond of his godly parentage, to the point of denying it out right. He was able to do it so calmly Mors had to give him some point. What kind of points he was still not sure of yet, perhaps another day he will a lot them to some arbitrary category. He made a note on the tiny little file he had on Edmund, which really was not too much. He was the god of death, not of files or history. Still he had information on every being living or dead, of course those were each their own category. He was thankful for the development of the computer, it came in quite handy for sorting things. He loved having papers to file, something about it being solid and in his hands, but the computer was wonderful for keeping things not needed right at this moment, and then printing them off when you did need them. Wonderful invention, and back up files could be kept easier. He wondered if this camp have moved to the electronic system, more than likely not. Mors had a great deal of help from Mercury to get the darn thing to work in the underworld. The things were fairly new too, less than a century perhaps only a few decades old. He needed help from time to time from Mercury, which often lead to old jokes but that was fine.

“It is a fact, though only a fact of birth. I suppose people are free to choose whom they admit into their family.” Mors could only imagine how hurt he would be if one of his children said such a thing, the memory of his grandchild thinking he actually wished to kill her was enough of a stab in the heart. His face did not change, nor did his tone. Practice makes perfect after all, the unpleasant thought was pushed from his mind. “I assume you have no problems with me saying Miss Alexia Simons is your mother?” Flipping through a few pages Mors came across the mothers name, and began looking up the family this silent child might be willing to note as being family. The death dates synced up, and Mors found the name of a Megan Simmons. It was times like this he wished his memory was not so well. He could remember the girl, his soft spot showing again. He stared at the page a moment unmoving before flipping back to Edmund's place. Even as uncaring as he was that was not a subject he was willing to bring up. Being burned alive was never pleasant, Mors was not fire proof. If he wished he could wait until after the fire to claim the souls, though they may feel more pain than necessary that way. Honestly he would rather feel the fire against his skin than sit back and wait for a small child to burn to nothing.

OOC: sorry kinda short <3

[Deleted]

credit to me

Edmund continued to stare straight as Mors talked in a voice that was much like his own. Free to choose. Well the death god was darn right about one thing. Claim by choice or not at all. That went for both demigod and immortal parties. Edmund knew full well that he was choosing to not to acknowledge his godly half. Duh, yes, he knew birth wise, biologically, he came from somewhere; he just chose not to claim it. If he ever did claim it publicly, he was giving credit to James. Just because the person was blood, didn't mean they were family. That included the fire god and Emalia. Family actually entailed being there for him, loving him, and and accepting him throughout his life. It also meant that he had to reciprocate those feelings. The true feeling of family had died in him soon after his true family did. It was a feeling that he didn't except any of the immortals to understand; none of the gods supported any of their children unless it was immortal convenient. How could they possibly except their children to accept them when they weren't even around for them?! It was the one of the many things about the gods that drove Edmund Simons crazy.

Besides, he was claimed right on the dot of this thirteenth birthday: it was a rule, apparently. Happy 13th Birthday! You're a child of.... Just another reason for him to hate the day he was born. It gave him a stereotype and linked him with people (and an immortal) he didn't want to be associated with. Well, screw that rule! He was just a part of the "claim your children" procedure; that being the case, he honestly wished that he had stayed unclaimed. Better willingly claimed than claimed because his supposed biological parent had to. "Mrs," Edmund responded curtly. She had married to his dad, James. Edmund's father was James. Forget the gods. It was where he got Simons from and he was going to be Simons for the rest of his life. They had given Ed a little sister. Meghan. One of the only three people in the world that Edmund was 100% sure he had loved: fully and unconditionally. ... or had he? He couldn't even remember.

Apart from the irritation that Mors was here and egging him on about his dead family, being with the immortal made Ed wonder: how did his parents and sister take going into the underworld? Did they fight? Just accept it? Waited until Edmund came too? Meg had apparently survived for a few minutes after his mom and dad. It had on one of the reports that her right arm and shoulder were sticking half out of the wreck; her whole arm burned except for a hand print, which was later matched to Edmund. Then again, if Edmund had tried to help... he didn't do a very good job. He couldn't remember anything after the ceiling fell; he had tried to for months afterwards since all the officials wanted an eyewitness account, but he just couldn't. The doctors had said something about retrograde amnesia and repression due to trauma. At the end of the day though, all he knew was that he hadn't gotten her out. He had left her to burn.

OOC: Ed decided to give a depressing ending ._. sorry!
IC: 561