{Wolf} Dreaming out loud...

[Talia Winchell]

Tal Winchell had arisen at about five forty-five that Sunday morning, and turned over on her stomach and looked out the window to watch the colorless sun, light grey in color though it radiated lines of much brighter white light, creep up. Finally, the sky was how it was supposed to be during a Camp Half-Blood wintertime — cloudless, a single shade of color that was a light, peaceful blue to everybody else but a shade of gray to the Hermes cabin leader. Once the digits on the clock crookedly placed on the nearby bookshelf glowed 7:39, Tal couldn't stand staying in her bed and threw the covers off of her, meeting the cold morning air slightly gladly. Winter was better for thinking, as summer was better for doing things. You were always canoe racing or riding pegasi or painting or... well, when you were at camp, the possibilities were endless. Just a little tweak to something and it became completely different.

However, in the wake of the sudden sickness and just the fact that most of the activities were temporarily canceled, what with the proposition of a quest and all, most of the campers had been wandering around feeling desultory and generally despondent. Their feelings rose up and clouded the air, and sometimes it felt so much as tangible. It was so suffocating. It was almost impossible now to go somewhere where nobody else would be; Tal couldn't help but decide to try. As she slipped a wrinkled orange Camp Half-blood t-shirt over her head, she proposed silently that it would be the volleyball court. How many people went there before eight in the morning, especially during the depths of the month of December? When she arrived there, clad in her shirt, jeans, and Ugg boots, she discovered that she was nearly alone. One more person was there, and she didn't speak to them just yet.

She examined at her feet the abandoned, dirty volleyball, smudged with mud and dirt and ink. Sometimes the winning kids wrote all their names on the ball, which meant that in the rain, making contact with the ball might just stain your hands a navy blue. And sure enough, when Tal bent to pick up the ball then dropped it, she realized her hands were coated with deep blue liquid which was depicted to her as a murky yet consistent shade of dark gray.

Tilting her head unwillingly to look at Wolfgang, she decided to herself that it was Wolf. The body language said so; he seemed less confident than the normal Wolfgang was. "Wolf?" she asked hesitantly, her voice high and unsure.


ooc; I kind of wanted to name this Fifty Shades of Grey.

[Wolfgang Koenig]

Wolf was unable to sleep. Or at least, when he tried, images that didn't seem to make sense to him flashed through his mind. Although the images seemed to last forever, it seemed as though he had only slept for an hour when he awoke. Ever since he had tried to regain his memory he had discovered that he had trouble sleeping when he was himself. The images seemed to be from the past or something; he saw images of a few people in particular, most of the time it was a couple. A couple definitely from the early to mid nineteen hundreds. The only thing he could tell from the images was that the male was a member of the Freikorps, Wolf could tell by the uniform that he was wearing.

After a little longer of tossing and turning in his bed he arose, and he wasn't feeling too good. It was so early and he was already out of bed, although he guessed that meant more time for him to play chess or something. Without a care in the world, Wolf threw on the standard camp attire which he had neatly folded the day before. He crept out of his cabin, so not to wake up his siblings. He didn't want to be faced with the confrontation. Everyone at camp was so mean, and he wasn't the type to stand up for himself. He would end up either slinking away or taking it like a wimp.

Once he was met with fresh air he found himself whistling. He strolled along towards the volleyball court, sure that nobody would be interested in going there at like half seven in the morning. Nobody at camp would want to get up so early, they were all normal teenagers who liked to stay in bed until the afternoon if they could. Wolf didn't class himself as a normal teenager, and he always had been an early bird, but being fully awake at this time was a little extreme.

Wolf sat himself down on the ground and continued to whistle to himself loudly. Nobody could hear him so he hadn't a care in the world. That was until he spotted another person coming his way, and at first he couldn't make out whether they were a male or a female. He went silent and he stared at the figure until they neared closer. He realized that it was a female, and he recognized her; it was Tal, girlfriend of the late Luke Lucchesi. He figured that she must have went through a rough time. In that sense, he was glad that he didn't know who his family was, because at least he couldn't feel upset about losing them.

Suddenly she spoke to him.

"Wolf?"

He nodded slowly and his eyes darted all over the place.They went anywhere that was not her. He had a problem with looking at people when they were talking to him, and a lot of people found it rude but he simply couldn't help it. "H-Hi," he spoke quietly so that it would be difficult to hear his voice. Was she going to be horrible to him too? He expected her to be. Everyone was.

Words: 536.

[Talia Winchell]

He had looked a bit content from afar, but as soon as Tal approached him his mood seemed to become more dank. The whistling that Tal had heard as she approached had ceased, though the daughter of Hermes really wasn't sure whether or not it had been Wolf's whistling or someone else's. She watched as Wolfgang stuttered out a reply, one so quiet it was almost unintelligible even though she had been listening for it. "Uh..." She trained her eyes down on him; the boy sitting on the ground. It was bound to be cold, but Tal wanted company who didn't look at her like she was contagious. Slowly slipping down to sit next to him, she finally turned her head to the side and inspected his profile. He didn't hold himself confidently, no, and his hair was slightly mussed. But watching him was strangely comforting.

Realizing what she was doing — no, what was she doing? Why did she want to talk to him? she pulled her eyes away and focus instead on a torn part of the volleyball net that swayed in the chilled wind. The edges of the rope that held it together were frayed and dirtied, and it was one of those things that she was sure counselors would want to work on during the approaching time of cleaning. "Sorry," she added with little reason for letting that one word slip out, edging away from him slightly. She'd probably scared him. "Uh..." Her eyes darted around feverishly — at the trees, the coarse sand, then settled on the frayed net once more. "Why're you up so early?" she asked, solely because she felt as though she needed to break the silence. It was only after the words exited her mouth and hovered in the air that she realized how forced and stupid they really sounded.


ooc; sorry for the suck.