<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8f/Elias1.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Elias Neighton (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=207204.msg10388159#msg10388159)<br/><strong>Cabin:</strong>Apollo<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Pavilion<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>September 25th, 6:06 a.m.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Lea<br/><strong>Notes:</strong>Appearing relaxed, though his eyes seem nervous. Stands as though frozen before her. Keeps safe distance, as though contaminated.<br/><br/>Elias started at the sound of a voice entering in on his little sphere of self-awareness. And it was a girl, a woman, he corrects himself, and she was speaking to him. Just sparking up a conversation. Gods, she was chewing her lip in the cutest way…<br/><br/>“Elias!” He stammers out, then catches himself, taking a step back and sitting down on one of the benches attached to the tables of the dining area. “My name…is Elias. It wouldn’t have been so weird if you had asked…sorry. I’m a bit jumpy today.” He finishes in one giant breath, then casts his eyes down. The slight carry over on his vowels signifying that he was not American born.<br/><br/>She was very attractive. In that, “mess with me and I snap your neck boy” type of way. Best not to look at her….though that might be harder than he thought. He pretends to busy himself with the lyre, laying it across his lap and fiddling with the tuners. As if he could tune the thing. It chose what tone it wanted to play.<br/><br/>“Look, I’m sorry if this is your area or something, I’ll clear right out. This stupid grin comes from…realizing there are worse things to be than plain old Elias.” He states, giving her a quick nod before casting his eyes back down to his lyre. He couldn’t possibly muck this up much worse. He had literally made himself look like an idiot in the first three minutes of knowing a girl at camp…and for some odd reason. He was proud of himself for having spoken up at all. “And yes, this is my first day here…and third day in America.”<br/><br/>His fingers begin to move on their own accord, doing what they always did when he was nervous. Play the lyre. The move in a steady rhythm, plucking the golden chords quickly, yet not anywhere near as fast as…yesterday. Before long the youth begins to hum along, singing some months old song he had heard on the radio.” Radioactive”. How appropriate. Maybe she would get the picture…<br/><br/>Stay around him too long, and nothing good would come of it. Because the truth of the matter was, he was a ticking time bomb. And no human being, demigod, or creature deserved to be there when he went off.<br/>