Most people called him Beckendorf, and he was the greatest armoursmith the camp had seen in years.
Calm winds and blues skies, blue like Silena's eyes. Thinking about her hurts. Even though they've gone over the plan hundreds of times, he doesn't know if he'll see her again.
He can't tell Jackson that, but he thinks he knows anyway. His pegasus lands, all black feathers and soft whinnies, only to take off again.
Down two flights of stairs, cut the bolt, slip inside. They tape jars of Greek Fire to the consoles. He hates this part of the plan because it gives him too much time to think. To worry.
He's jinxed it. Footsteps on metal stairs, growls and mutters of impatience...
The boy locks eyes with him- how much time? Not enough. Not even if they managed to close the doors, which they couldn't.
He opens his mouth to offer to distract them-
and Jackson volunteers instead. He wants to argue- the boy's two years younger, less experienced, but he can't make this trap work the way Beckendorf can. So he nods, feeling queasy, and wishes him luck.
Back to work. Three more jars on the controls, wires..red goes to red, or is it blue? His hands are slick with sweat- gods, it's humid. Even so far down he can hear the monsters, baying and roaring and slashing and fighting. He hopes they're not winning.
Wires, he thinks, he's got to concentrate on the wires. How much time has passed? He can't tell. Blue wires remind him of blue eyes in a pretty face..
Focus.
The wires spark and hiss, and he knows he's done well. Better, even. Still, he double-checks the glowing explosives, then triple-checks them. He peeks at the wires-
Snarls above him, not as many as before, but it's his cue to leave. He's halfway up the stairs when he remembers his bag; it's empty, they'll know something's up; so he goes back down, crams cans of peaches into its pockets by the handful until it's full to bursting.
Back up the stairs. They're so close he can see their shadows on the walls of the stairwell.
A fraction of a second before they come into view, he turns so that he's facing the engine room, pretending to be hurrying down the stairs. Something shouts; fingers half the length of his arm dig into his shoulders, yanking him back so powerfully he nearly falls the rest of the way down. Giants half-drag, half-shove him up the stairs, and when he gets to the top, a boy is there, sneering in all his dark-haired, one-eyed glory. "Nice try," he drawls.
Instead of answering, he throws himself to the side, and the giant on his left grunts and staggers back- surprise, mostly, not pain, but it's enough, and he rips himself free, down the stairs..
Hands snatch him back, and he's kicking and roaring and he's sure that someone will hear him, that Jackson'll appear at any moment..
Shouting and flying fists- he doesn't have his sword- he can't hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears, but that's alright-
An explosion on the left side of his face, he's been hit, where's his armour-
His vision is blurred-
The giant from before yanks his arms back so quickly he groans, shudders, and then they're dragging him again. His head pounds. His backpack, he still has it, they hadn't checked it.
Black hair, blue eyes...
More stairs...
A smell like rotting flesh and snake skin and sweat- monsters, lots of them- there's Jackson, sword in his left hand, isn't he right handed? He sees me, finally, and those sea-green eyes widen. "No!"
Beckendorf glances at his wrist. They've fallen for it, the bombs are still there, all he has to do is press the button..a brush of his fingers, really..
The boy with eyes like molten gold barks something- they're arguing, his bag is still full of explosives-
Open his bag-
They do, and he ignores the crowd recoiling as twelve-ish cans of peaches roll out onto the deck. Golden-eyes- Kronos- is breathing hard, snarling a question, and the one-eyed boy blanches and sprints towards the stairs.
Let them disarm the explosives? Blow up everyone on the ship- except Jackson, he'll get away, he has to- death by monsters?
He knows which one he prefers even as he forms a zero with his thumb and forefinger and mouths go. Jackson is shaking his head, but he'll do what has to be done. When it comes down to it, the show must go on.
A snake-woman hisses.
It will be quick, he reminds himself. And the son of the sea will be safe.
He presses the button.
He doesn't know why he curls up- it's instinctive, maybe. It doesn't matter. Heat roars through him all at once, and for just a moment, as green and then white flash behind his eyelids, Charles Beckendorf feels as light as a feather.
His last thought is of a girl with soft raven hair and laughing blue eyes and a silvery voice-
and then of nothing at all.
Edit: I just realized I forgot the Author's note (my bad). These are really just lines that pop into my head at any given time and I sort of just mash them together into a story. Basically, updates will be random, because sometimes my creativity runs dry. I don't know who's reading this, but..enjoy?