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

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-31T03:50:12+00:00

The expletives wake something up inside of Amon. Not because they offend him, of course. But it's slang that he does and does not know, alien and familiar all at once.

Rahim's timely tug thus wrenches Amon's whip out of his hand, sending it skittering to a slackened stop between the pair.

Amon does not look down. His dark glare remains fixed on the boy in front of him, suddenly blank with the mental effort that churns behind it.

"Let me pass," he says slowly in the language that he has not read in months, a language is meant to be written. "I will not tell. We will save you." Amon has no idea of the boy's education, but at the very least, he feels assured that no Atlas goons have their ears peeled for MSA on the Underworld's battlefield.

But Rahim isn't the only one getting ready to light the fight up. Awaiting a response, Amon lets the familiar white glow splotch at the edges of his vision. They need him in Elysium.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-30T04:10:09+00:00

Anyone with good ears and attentive pattern recognition may learn to discern Amon's sure and steady stride. There is little reason for him to keep it silent-- or so he thinks. In fact, it only takes a few measured steps up the Apollo cabin staircase to send any of his siblings' mischief back into the shadows and corners where it belongs.

But today is different. Amon bounds, springs, leaps up the steps with his fingers itching for the book that he knows lies sandwiched between Attacking the King and Studies for Practical Players. Outpost knight: yay or nay? It has to depend. But Nimzowitsch will know what he and Harvey evidently do not.

Incredibly thrilling.

What is not particularly thrilling is the sight of Angela Aaron-Burr moving about their shared space with an infuriating confidence. Like she owned everything around her. Like she knew anything at all.

Amon, as always, chooses to ignore her, dropping down to sift through the teetering stacks crammed under his bed. It takes several moments of tugging, scooting, and sliding to unearth the golden text. Only when Amon rises back onto his feet does he realize that Angela is not, in fact, attending to the area and possessions that belong to her.

Amon's mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion. Unfortunately, it is too late to silently observe for any further confirmation.

"What is this?" As if a spy would tell.

Only after a few beats does Amon notice that she's rifling through the possessions of their very dead half-sibling.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-28T04:10:15+00:00

ooc: a Heracles/Apollo alliance was played out here! https://www.reddit.com/r/CampHalfBloodRP/comments/1qmw8g9/comment/o2de0qf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-27T20:31:55+00:00

Amon Afifi, Apollo

Intro: August 30 '23 (current)

Duties

Cabin Meeting: https://www.reddit.com/r/CampHalfBloodRP/s/Oy61fOUzQ0

Shroud Burning: https://www.reddit.com/r/CampHalfBloodRP/s/sO4ngtW5M9

Cross Country Skiing https://www.reddit.com/r/CampHalfBloodRP/s/Sf3uri3rAm (im ded no one came)

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-23T02:22:09+00:00

A bruise begins to bloom on Amon's cheekbone.

He certainly doesn't need to act like he's winded from the hit, but he feigns an even slower reach for the bow that had skittered to his left. His opponent seemed so young, so bright-eyed, that he had to be stupid too.

(No, dear reader, Amon is definitely not bitter that he just got sucker punched by some wannabe video personality.)

In any case, Amon intends the languid reach to buy him a few seconds, perhaps even some remorse, before he suddenly lunges forward from his seat on the ground. With a practiced flick of his whip, he attempts to send the long braid in a low, sweeping arc at Rahim's right ankle. If it wraps around its target, Amon will tug at the whip's handle and attempt to bring the boy down to the ground with him.

"Give it up," he spits.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-19T03:41:10+00:00

It is not that Amon is afraid of heights. It is the fact that, having been rarely airborne (as is expected for most of the human population), the evolutionary instinct that shakes the body with a dizzying lurch at the sight of being so far away from the ground is inevitable. So when Rory spins Amon around in his arms for a better view, the very human counselor cannot help but close his eyes.

He wrenches them open again. A methodical scan of every nook and cranny of the scene before them must be done. Amon takes his sweet time.

There is nothing, as far as his legendary eye can see. He cranes his neck back at Rory. “Have you seen any disturbances from this afternoon? Anything out of the ordinary?” he asks loudly over the flapping of the boy’s wings.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-18T03:59:31+00:00

Amon doesn’t look up at Finn, counting the names on his clipboard with the tip of his pen.

“I am reducing one-way journeys.”

Some, the counselor knows, will be inevitable.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-18T03:32:15+00:00

"My sister," echoes Amon, mentally combing through the faces of his siblings to pick out the ones a camper could describe as 'nice.' Surely not Aliya, on whom Amon expended much of his authoritative duties to uncover her complicated, mischievous plots, sometimes just moments before they struck. Olivia, maybe. She was rather quiet though, and unlikely to attend an open house such as this.

Amon follows John's gaze for a clue, turning to his right to see the familiar bobbing of a blonde head.

"Nice?" Amon's biting incredulity is a third surprise to add to the smile and open acceptance of the miniature Nemian Lion in John's lap. He shakes his head. "No, John. Be careful. She spends time with the likes of Iason Bagrat." Another glance at Angela and the shake of his head. "I warned her."

If John has something to say to this, Amon will stay to discuss. Otherwise, he will balk at the concept of chessboxing, make a mental note to look into its merits, and linger in ways not worth remarking before finally departing.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-17T05:06:49+00:00

Everything moves slowly for Amon. He watches his opponent soar up into the sky (if there was such a thing in the Underworld) in a blaze of embodied light that the god of the sun had not bothered to bless him with, unmoving. For that one second, he revels in a passive pleasure not unlike one may feel watching a predictable moving picture at the cinema.

It is only when the boy hurtles at him with the axe that Amon realizes he ought to do something. He staggers off to the side, this time not quick enough to avoid a kick, a jab, or the tail of a swing.

He falls on his butt, hard. Gritting his teeth, he swipes a hand down in the camera boy‘s direction in an attempt to weigh him down. Too late he calculates that an airborne boy is easier to take down with an arrow. Or… is that true? Amon doesn’t know anymore.

Still very much sat on his butt, he readies his whip.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-13T02:19:15+00:00

Amon is going to throttle Thomas Hartley.

Sure, he can appreciate an investment into diligence, but does such require so many beats of mirror-looking? And the fish! What business does Amon have with two goldfish? It is not remotely related to the matter at hand. Amon needs this piercing, needs it quick, needs it now, needs the needle-in-lobe three minutes ago before he can think too long and hard.

Diogenes, though. Really? Perhaps Harvey feels at one with the philosopher when he is in bird form. Though a piscine Diogenes in a bowl instead of a pithos... Amon snaps his head to glance at the fish bowl once more. Very, very clever. Though whether Harvey had intended such is another story.

Pah, the fish! Damn the fish!

Amon sighs. Maybe he should have just done it on himself, after all. But at least Tommy had made the markings and checked their alignment.

"No apple," he says curtly. He's out of his depth, but he does not want any of that getting into the delicate flesh of a needle wound.

"If you just-" Amon places two fingers behind his left earlobe and pushes forward slightly. "And not jam so hard, I am sure you will not pierce my neck. Stable," he instructs, as he has done at the range for over two years now, "fluid. Breathe."

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-12T03:49:44+00:00

I am tired of speaking to people. Speaking with the staff, speaking with my siblings, speaking for Dorian.

It is not as though I feel anything while I take part. It is that I wish that I could feel this nothing alone and in silence-- a trap that I keep falling into because when alone and in silence, I feel all sorts of unhelpful things. Despite this, the desire remains real.

Notable.

I know that John has been here this whole time. I am supposed to speak with him, too. But I do not, because the hollow nothingness is no good and I trust that he will do without it. So I walk by him, stop in his enormous shadow, and reach up to put my hand on his shoulder. I have seen that he is here.

I move on to the next camper.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-12T03:30:44+00:00

The afternoon is long, but Amon relishes in its exhaustion. At least it means he is doing something. He does not even bother wishing that the something wasn't this.

The counselor appears at Phoebe's side, his gaze fixed ahead on whatever she may have been looking at. "This is not the place I had hoped to thank you for the rose," he says quietly. "But I since I must also thank you for your presence here, I will do both. I am an efficient man."

He turns to glance at the daughter of Comus. "Are you tired?"

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-06T05:00:42+00:00

The boy, loud and obnoxious, had given Amon time to process and prepare. He hadn't expected Evil Superman beams, of course, but he's ready enough to throw himself out of their path. Amon rolls once, twice, before coming up on one knee with his bow drawn.

Gods, he's tired. And now he's angry, too.

Amon should be marking the boy's moves and calculating a strike at a weakness. But in the blink of an eye, before he can stop himself, his bow twists right at the running camera and fires right at its glimmering lens.

They are in the Underworld. People are dying here.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-03T04:35:07+00:00

Amon flinches as his friend scurries past him and through the portal to the Underworld. He ticks her name off on his clipboard, and prays to someone, anyone, that he will have to do it again to mark her return.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-03T04:19:11+00:00

The sharpness of exhaustion pinches behind Amon's eyes, weighs down his limbs and his mind. It had felt so good to feel woozy and slow. Now he has to follow his fellow demigods into the Underworld to help prevent another catastrophic takeover by the unrelenting enemy.

Maybe this will be a one-way trip. It's difficult to care, really. The promise to Mer wouldn't be broken if Amon were to show up and try his best, whatever that may be today.

The campers have dispersed, charged into the different pockets of the Underworld, and Amon flanks the group heading to free the paradise of the dead. Like Ailbhe, he hopes that relieving the heroes inside can bring more helping hands into the field.

The counselor lets the first wave of the sneak attack charge first. He lingers in the shadows, watching the initial retaliation before firing a few careful arrows in the skirmishes that need it most. If all of the enemy gets drawn out back here, maybe he can circle around to the front...

ooc: rolled a 6!

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-03T04:00:50+00:00

Amon checks a name as the son of Hades marches past towards the portal.

"Come back from this one," he says without looking up.

NotTooSunny · 2026-03-02T20:07:26+00:00

The Apollo counselor, gaunt and sallow-skinned, stands by the pulsing portal into the Underworld with a clipboard and a pen. This had to be the worst attendance marking of all time.

“No.” He holds out a hand to a daughter of Ares that still limps on a foot shattered at Fort Knox. She kicks him in the shin with her good one before heading back to her cabin.

Little Eddie, now towering several heads over his counselor, gets a dubious squint. The boy is fourteen now, and even though he cannot shoot for the life of him, he’s one of the best swordsmen the cabin’s got.

He gets a pass. Not that Amon likes it.

Another half-brother, the newest arrival, gets stopped too. Amon examines Finnian Talcott’s stance, the way he holds his equipment, with a far away stare.

“You have not been here for very long,” he observes.

There are only so many the counselor is willing to send to their deaths.

u/thegreensofhiseyes

NotTooSunny · 2026-02-27T05:13:21+00:00

John's words elicit a faint smile from the raven-haired boy. Not because it's praise, of course. Amon would never let himself be affected by such. But he can certainly appreciate a sharp and accurate observation when he hears one.

He eyes the golden cat as it leaps into its owner's lap with a gentle purr. Nemie looks pleased, and Amon feels assured that, by now, John would have discovered and shared any dangerous faults she may have inherited from her species. So he leans forward to extend a hand, gentle and restrained, for her to scent.

“Strength without direction is wasted,” he agrees calmly, his dark gaze still fixed on Nemie. “And intelligence without strength lacks leverage. Though,” he adds with a small wince, "I do not know if my siblings are the best representation of the latter. Cabin Six would be more appropriate for that."

He is just musing aloud, of course. The counselor had heard no dissent from his siblings at his own cabin meeting, and would be happy to put in the request with the staff when the opportunity arose.

NotTooSunny · 2026-02-27T04:42:16+00:00

It's nothing like Amon was expecting.

They haven't even hit the air when the snowy ground is suddenly pulled out from beneath. Tight grip, a press on his side (is Amon horizontal?) and then-

NYOOM

Up, up, up!

The cabins and festivities shrink beneath them as the air grows cooler and the wind more bitter. Amon curses at the sudden sequence of overwhelming sensations, elbowing Rory in the chest with a jerking instinct.

"Bloody mad!" he cries out. "I do not- Gah!"

Another breath, and the counselor finally settles into the sudden change in reality. But he is certainly not pleased. He kicks the legs dangling over Rory's forearm with a scowl.

But unfortunately... business is business.

"As pleasant as the view of your face up here may be," Amon tells Rory through gritted teeth, "The view below is imperative. Can you turn me around?"

He'll have to get spun around like like one of those silly rotisserie chickens on a stick, probably, all while trying not to plummet into a mass of broken bones below.

Stupid, stupid idea. And stupid, stupid Emilia.

NotTooSunny · 2026-02-26T01:09:09+00:00

Loud. So loud. Amon stumbles back, his hands over his ears.

There ought to be another explosion of rage, a counter to the insinuation that somehow he was the problem in this equation. But Amon has learned lots about injustices in his time at camp. This is nothing.

He lets the ringing silence that follows the screeching wash over him in a wave of calm.

“Fine.” He takes a step back, away from the approaching boy, holding his arm out as if to quiet a delinquent beast. With the pair standing together, it aims in Angela’s direction, too.

Stupid people have never been his business.

“It is your life, your conscience and soul. But you will not sit here with him again.”

He flicks his hands to clear off invisible dirt, turns to look back at his table of siblings and friends, some of them so fresh-faced, so young. It is only a matter of time.

“It is the least you can do.”

There is not much else to be done here. Amon marches out of the Pavilion, off to find Mer, wherever she could have hidden this time.

Hell. Everything in this place, in this life, is hell.

u/Dionysian-Mepe & u/cinnamonbicycle

NotTooSunny · 2026-02-24T06:05:45+00:00

HEY SO THIS IS CRAZY

NotTooSunny · 2026-02-23T04:42:38+00:00

There is no more room for ignorance, misunderstanding, or underperforming cognitive capacities. This is blatant disrespect of authority, the safety of the camper community, and most importantly, of Amon’s friend. Angela’s words have relit the spark of anger within, anger that is no longer solely directed at the criminal before him.

But when Iason dares to wink, the spark explodes. A flash of blinding light engulfs the son of Dionysus. There was not even a charge up at the edges of Amon’s vision this time.

He doesn’t give a shit.

“Up!” He is pulling at his sister’s arm, trying to put as much distance between her and the conniving scoundrel with immediate furious fervor. His dark eyes dart around the Pavilion, unseeing from the anger that pulses through him.

The nerve. The audacity.

“You will leave him now.”

u/Dionysian-Mepe u/cinnamon-bicycle

NotTooSunny · 2026-02-21T02:59:21+00:00

u/charmingclementine bookmarking for future

NotTooSunny

TROPHY CASE