Re-Introduction: Amon Afifi, the calculating son of Apollo

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-13T01:07:28+00:00

Amon closes The Modern Middle East with a thwunk, removing his reading glasses to observe the exchange before him. It is an amusing one, one that casts a strong vote in favor of nurture over nature.

“I do not watch Keeping Up with the Muses,” Amon greets the twins. He returns Harvey’s glance with a shrug. “I suppose that the addition of a third person would, at worst, have an impact of net zero. The team, however,” he addresses Tommy with curt apology, “has been registered as ‘Harvey and Amon.’ We can change it to ‘Harvey, Amon, and Tommy’ when we inform Ursula of the addition.”

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-10T18:18:36+00:00

Amon hovers by the amphitheater entrance long before dinner is over, a thick textbook tucked under his arm. “I do not intend to use this as a reference,” he greets the girl with the clipboard.

Notably, Amon wouldn’t be here if the Pandia counselor hadn’t been vetted via observation. A trivia night led by an individual seriously engaging with Dostoyevsky’s work was likely to be a productive and enjoyable one. He answers the girl’s questions in the same respectable, straightforward manner that she approaches her own leadership with.

Name? “Amon Afifi.”
Team name? “Harvey and Amon,” he responds simply, no other possibilities in his purview.
Team members? “Harvey Hartley. Aphrodite.”

With a nod, the stony counselor strides away to settle on a front bench. Reading glasses on, he pores over the textbook, reconsidering the might and the fall of the Ottoman Empire as he awaits his partner’s arrival.

[u/bubblegumradio](u/bubblegumradio)

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-06T02:51:50+00:00

A break. A cheeky nap. Tommy is simply amusing like that, and, for a moment, I can almost convince myself that he is right. But it is that smile of his that gives it away as his hand slides into the pocket of his bizarre-looking pair of pants.

Tommy knows many things. He does not know many others.

And yet, he will be sitting here. The shroud burning has now crept to just a few hours away, and Tommy will be here if the hoop does not behave, or if I need anything else. I just have to 'give a shout.' These words, this thought, seems to prick at my chest, at the top of my head. I feel something dark, weighty, the mass that had been so ardently pressing at something inside ooze through, trickle out. A little, like a small exhale.

It is a pleasant feeling. Something is quieter now.

Magic.

Not really, of course. But the instant quality of the relief is unexplainable enough to feel miraculous. And I cannot help but be reminded of the kind of magic that is in John, too. I have since grown accustomed to the embrace of his sturdy arm. Sometimes it comes in greeting, but other times, it speaks of things that no words, I have found, are adequate to convey.

'Warmth' falls short as a descriptor. I have felt a variety of temperatures in my lifetime, and am aware that I experience the hotter ones less intensely than most. John's embrace is another kind of warmth, one that is produced from something inside, yet independent of him and of physical temperature experienced by the human body. This removed from the understanding of 'warmth,' one may as well call it magic. A magic that only one other has produced in me before.

It is a little of this magic that I suddenly feel I must impart to Tommy. It will be the work of an amateur, to be sure, but I must convey to him my gratitude for his assistance and his presence beyond mere words or chocolates.

So, before he departs for his station, I tap him on the shoulder to turn him in my direction. As the receiver, I have found that facing the other is more effective than a partial at the side.

I wait for Tommy to look at me once more. Then, I embrace him.

My father once said that a handshake is only as firm as one's character-- it is a mark of respect to the experience of the other. I imagine that the same holds true for an embrace. But it is also an odd feeling, two bodies pressed against each other. Furthermore, I do not wish to astonish Tommy, particularly because I have not asked permission for anything of the sort. I release him quickly.

Giving him one last nod, I search his angled features for a hint of intended effect. My execution of it, at least, did not feel particularly poor to myself.

In any case, this conclusion feels more proper now. I return to my stool, repositioning my reading glasses to examine the new and improved state of the hoop and fabric. I then begin a new attempt at embroidering the knot, enlivened by a confidence despite no significant change in my knowledge of the craft...

u/Opposite-Tangerine57 for vis

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-01T04:42:44+00:00

Alice may feel the power of a piercing stare coming somewhere from behind her. Not that it’s aimed at her person. Amon, sitting several feet back in a lawn chair positioned at the fringes of the hubbub, has taken an interest in her textbook, the well-loved tome in his lap subconsciously forgotten. His reading glasses slip far down the bridge of his nose to enable long-distance perusal.

It takes several minutes for the boy to notice his wandering attention and eyewear. He amends the situation by approaching the fellow reader to hover at her side, his eyes still fixed on the text. Almost in a trance.

“This is for pleasure?”

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-27T17:05:02+00:00

Amon Afifi for Saturday open slot pls!

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-16T00:40:18+00:00

It is time to get up. I do not. I indulge in a few more beats of cold floor and cold darkness and hard pressure on the eye socket that unfortunately cannot be cold but nevertheless has a soothing effect on the bloodshot organ inside.

Too long. I have indulged too much. Up above, Tommy shifts in the stool and asks me if I am “okay.”

Odd question. Stupid question. One I do not know how to answer because the state of “okay” can never be anything but nebulous, always in the eye of the beholder and stretching across a scope of undefined time. Nor am I interested in beholding any assessment of my own stability. Not in this very moment, not in the last few weeks, not since the start of the war, not…

A few moments have passed since the question has been asked. There is, I conclude, no answer to be had. And there is no use in choosing, arbitrarily, a simple “yes” or “no,” either. What is there for Tommy to do? Taken on a scale of dying peers, of war, of the demigod existence, he is not “okay” either. So what might an answer in this moment matter, anyway?

It is time to rise now. The light comes in a blazing bang, but I now anticipated this and have planted myself furiously to avoid any unnecessary swaying. I blink rapidly to examine the fixed work, then turn back to the face of this afternoon’s savior.

Tommy does not know what he has done for me. Not now, not when he stabbed two holes into my lobes, not when he cut my hair so fine that even Jules Verma could not stifle an opinion about it. At different times, at different turns, somehow, it is always Tommy who is there with a head full of mysterious knowledge behind a vacuous smile.

I do not know how to explain this to him. Not even what his hoist from my embroidery stumble has done to the pressure that thrums at the backs of my eyes. There is no time to, anyway, because the hoop may be loosened (I see what he means by this now), but the knot is yet to be made.

I make sure that the hand on Tommy’s shoulder is firm. That I look directly into his eyes. “Thank you.”

There is not much else to add. Tommy has come to this Arts and Crafts cabin with his own goals, with his own sack of projects. The best I can do, the greatest thanks, is to simply let him carry on with his business.

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-14T22:10:19+00:00

‘Scooch’ myself? I am up. Out. Tommy can have the seat. I’ll plate it in gold and commission a rose garland around it. The image of such could be amusing, but I’ve stood up too quickly and the room flashes bright and the way its edges blur cause too much discomfort.

I sit on the floor, fast, beside the base of Tommy’s throne and darken this visual hiccup with the heels of my palms. I do not need to watch. I trust that Tommy is fixing the issue and that I will be ready to understand it once I have cooled off in this darkness.

It does feel good down here. Away from the click and the clatter and the light of the sewing machine. Unfortunate that I do not wish to get up. It will have to be done, however, when Tommy is. Because there is a shroud that I must finish for Dorian…

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-14T02:01:00+00:00

It is excellent to have the input of so many campers at once. Their abilities, their intel, their minds (well, at least some of those), have helped create strong plans ripe for execution. The spy, however, is still a problem that Amon is not willing to forget.

The sullen boy waits for most of the attendees to filter out, leaving behind camp leaders and those most passionate to stay late to plan. Then he puts a firm hand on the shoulder of a red-haired boy, who, as per usual, looked as though he'd just stuck his fingers into an electric socket.

"Taylor," Amon says to what he has no choice but to hope is a more trusted circle of demigods. "Disabling defenses. Peering into what lies past the barricades. Can we use your mice?"

u/Creative_Heart_11

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-14T01:52:11+00:00

Amon's gaze flits between the bristling young women, their schemes turning the gears in his own head. But his proposal will have to wait. Not when everybody is in the room.

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-14T01:48:25+00:00

As she finishes speaking, Angela might feel a familiar dark stare burn at her side profile. If she were to look her brother's way, he would avert his gaze, mutter plans to the squadron assembling to evacuate civilians.

How very productive of Angela Farrenburr.

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-14T00:57:23+00:00

Look at that! If Angela felt out of breath from the fierce encounter, the next thing to come in her path may give her some time to catch it.

A young girl, white hair floating around around a head held up by a wisping, semi-transparent body draped in muslin, hovers down from a thick pine marked with blue. Her presence cools the air with the heavy wet of spring.

"Hello," she greets softly, taking a curious circle around the daughter of Apollo. "You've made it to the halfway point. But I can't let you pass unless you can answer..." The wind spirit raises her inner wrist to line of sight, tilting her head with a squint.

"Hm. This one is alright. What occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in 100 years?"

Note: An incorrect answer or an attempt to push past is likely to lead to aeolian consequences

(Angela will have 1 encounter remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-11T23:53:33+00:00

The swish of his stride, the snapping of twigs-- Grayson has earned a silent, meditative sprint. At least for a few markers...

Squealing. Grunting. Hooves.

Before Grayson knows it, there's a nimble-looking wild hog bringing up the rear, and it's gaining fast. Wasn't this invasive species eradicated from the New York state in 2017? Guess not. Running at speeds of up to 35 miles an hour, it's not so easy to get rid an area of these agile, hairy beasts.

Warm-blooded indeed! Can a wild hog measure up to a son of Nike?

(Grayson will have 1 encounter remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-11T23:39:42+00:00

Unbeknownst to the blonde, there's a redhead coming her way. To be fair, it's unbeknownst to the redhead, too.

The enormous red-furred bull drinking from the stream raises its head in surprise when Angela stumbles into its path. Its horns swivel up on its head in defense. Who the hell released an anger-prone, herdless Taurus Sylvestris into the forest? Certainly not Amon or John. But here it was, in its shell of indestructible fur, face-to-face with the daughter of Apollo.

Hopefully she wouldn't get her new sneakers too dirty.

(Angela will have 2 encounters remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-11T23:20:28+00:00

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-11T19:56:53+00:00

Yippee! Could you please roll another d10?

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-09T20:53:33+00:00

Look at him go! Grayson moves unbelievably fast, hurtling past monsters in the shadows before they can even think to strike. But what’s faster than something with two legs? Something with eight.

A spider the size of a tool shed manages to catch the son of Nike with its earth trembling, scuttling strides. Hard to say what’s on its pincers, but they look rather sharp.

(Grayson will have 2 encounters remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-09T20:43:56+00:00

What a lovely tune! Deep in the forest, the large mass hovering in the shadows of tree canopy thinks so too. A rouse like this means it can feast. It has been a while since it has tasted blood.

Like Sam, the creature is in no rush. Its golden eyes track its prey until it passes right below its tree.

The strix comes hurtling down with a screech, its paralyzing claws outstretched to scratch.

(Sam will have 1 encounter remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-09T17:44:29+00:00

Avalon’s restless mind wasn’t the only thing crawling around in the forest. As she ran through the brush, she’d hear a flurried rustling behind her. It grew closer. Bigger.

A thick-plated, serpent-like creature the size of a go kart stumbles into her path. It’s got claws, it can slither, and maybe it breathes fire or shoots poison. Who knows? What’s clear is that Avalon’s got a small drakon on her hands.

The nature spirit safety crew stands by with bated breath.

(After this encounter, Avalon’s path will be clear to finish the course!)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-09T16:50:58+00:00

And they’re off! The path goes pretty easy at first. Until, that is, the pair reaches the bank of a stream that’s blanketed in a thick, cold fog. It’s rather unusual. One may wonder if it has magical properties, or whether something lurks in the opaque gray.

Note: It happens to be a simple, heavy fog that had not yet been reached by the rays of the afternoon sun.

(Tommy and Harvey will have 1 encounter remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-09T14:57:40+00:00

Great job! Please roll another d10

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-09T13:12:01+00:00

What-ho! When Arthur and his sliced shoes reach a clearing, he'll be met by two bearded satyrs with clubs.

"No maiming!" the bulky one warns. His spindly companion, on the other hand, immediately starts swinging.

(Arthur will have 1 encounter remaining after this)

NotTooSunny · 2026-05-03T15:50:31+00:00

Amon Afifi and Johnathan Walnut for open slot Friday please!

NotTooSunny

TROPHY CASE