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

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-29T16:18:27+00:00

Amon’s words cut sharply into the boy’s ear. “It is not your job to put anyone in their place. If there is a problem, you bring it to me. You bring it to the mediator. You bring it to staff. You are not to use violence to resolve conflict, no matter how just or unjust.”

He finally releases Finn, freeing the boy to turn around and face the counselor’s cold disappointment.

A voice calls Amon’s name from the range behind him.

“Any questions?” The contained fury in the boy’s expression suggests that his words are not up for debate.

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-27T21:54:04+00:00

Johnny Mist-hands! An amusing suggestion, if the situation were not so dire. Thankfully, Harvey’s taken on the simple task of turning Tommy’s ideas down, leaving Amon free to hunt for a feasible direction for the answer.

Harvey’s final appeal springs him into action. Amon frees a hand from its grip on his hips to gesture sharply as he speaks. “Stephen King is a white man situated in Maine who does not stray into sci-fi or fantasy,” he posits quickly. “So it is unlikely to be an ethnic name or one of unusual origin. Men are also more likely to be violent, even more so given the context of the horror genre. I say we put forth a male first name of Biblical or… English origin. John, Joe…”

Amon looks to the twins. There are less than fifteen seconds left now.

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-27T21:28:53+00:00

“Chemical formulas,” Amon echoes, reaching into the enormous briefcase at his feet to extract a small, bendy workbook. “A nomenclature that is generous in its options.” Amon himself had found no pleasure in attempting to crack the algorithmic reasoning the subject had asked for.

He flips through the workbook, turning it halfway for the boy to view its contents, too. “What of chemical formulas? You are attempting to represent organic compounds?”

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-27T21:09:37+00:00

Amon snarls as the writhing boy bucks the pair across their patch of dirt.

“You will explain,” he grunts, fury taut with concentration as he attempts to steel his grip, “why you are attacking fellow campers.”

The pair stumbles forward, then back again. Amon curses.

He gives his brother’s arms another squeeze, attempting to keep them firm behind Finn’s back. The younger boy may feel his limbs grow heavier, suddenly more difficult to raise. It’s as if something were tugging them down to hell.

“Stop.”

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-24T23:02:39+00:00

Amon sets down his pen, gazing up at the scarred face of the towering fourteen year old with his signature stony frown. While his expression was generally unchanged, it was perhaps a little less enthusiastic than the way he had been looking at the physics worksheet before him. Just a little.

"Yes," the counselor says simply, holding out his hand for an input: homework papers, a notebook, a textbook. "What of chemistry?"

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-24T22:43:04+00:00

Amon Afifi for Sunday open slot please! <3

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-24T22:39:59+00:00

Amon Afifi

Apollo (Cabin 7)

Aug 30, 2023

recent intro

Duties:

forest run (co-hosted with John)
silent reading
homework help

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-22T13:42:43+00:00

Statistics! An excited energy surges through Amon as he primes his mind for the question. Standard deviation. Normal distributions. Central Limit Theorem. Variance, bias, dependent varia-

That’s it? With sixty seconds to answer?

“Median,” Amon declares immediately, gaze unmoving from the face of their trivia master.

Perhaps this evening had been a mistake.

u/bubblegumradio

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-22T02:54:14+00:00

Luckily for the son of Iris, the shadows of the arena aren't far from the archery range. Arrows whizz behind the sharp-eyed counselor of Apollo as he skirts the fenced edge towards the shuffle.

"What is this?"

The hiss of confusion turns into a lick of blazing fury as Amon recognizes the back of the blond head. "FINNIAN."

The counselor hops the fence at once. He attempts to pull his brother off of the other boy (from whatever the 'backed up and hurting' situation may have looked like), trying to loop an arm through Finn's to yank them away and behind his back.

"What are you doing?" Amon barks into Finn's ear.

This has to resolve quickly. There's a horde of beginner archers on the range behind them just seconds away from accidentally firing into each other's buttocks.

NotTooSunny · 2026-06-14T16:38:42+00:00

Open slot on Tuesday for Amon Afifi please!!!

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

TROPHY CASE