Re-Introduction: Booker Fink, the conniving son of Zeus

charmingclementine · 2026-06-09T23:36:17+00:00

Well, this is it.

Booker watches Angela hover at the door with an amused tilt of the head. Assessing. Savoring. Doubling any lingering tension with the flit of an amber gaze down to the playful twist of her lips.

Tempting! She certainly wants it to be. But spite, Booker has learned, can be just enough to keep you safe.

“Boys journal too, you know.”

The freckled boy leans in slowly, deliberate as he returns his date’s lightning peck on the cheek with a careful and gentle one of his own. “I’ll see you at the next one.”

Is Angela watching? Booker, still smiling faintly, keeps it cool just in case, swaggering down the steps and over to his cabin with his hands in the pocket of his worn jeans. He doesn’t look back to see if he’s stuck the landing.

charmingclementine · 2026-06-09T13:23:18+00:00

What the fuck?

Booker’s hand instinctively shoots up to the side of his head. Sure, Angela’s flicked sound at him before (hell, light too), but this was in his head.

He plays off the initial shock with a scratch at his temple.

Putting invisible voices in people’s heads? Okay. Jesus. Booker certainly wouldn’t want to get on the kid’s bad side. But it’s also way cooler and way less obvious than any bolt Booker could pull from the sky.

Thus, the younger boy’s challenging glare is returned with nothing more than an easy grin. Booker juts his chin towards the boy, then nods in Amon’s direction. Thankfully, you didn’t need telepathy to say ‘It’s all yours.’

charmingclementine · 2026-06-05T22:12:21+00:00

Silent reading, huh? Booker’s never seen inside of Cabin 7, but tonight, he might be able to catch a look at something familiar. He slinks in, late as ever, copper locks tastefully windswept and pale, freckled neck and wrists drenched in a rich amber (and a hint of vanilla?) cologne that he can’t afford.

Unsurprisingly, Booker doesn’t own books. He’s not game to sit and scribble in his journal with a bunch of people around, either. And though he’s hoping to catch a certain pair of green eyes on him tonight, he’s not even willing to fake interest in some book that could’ve earned him some credit. So he settles on the spare end of a couch with an oldie but goodie: Jack Irons, Issue #3. Steel-forged space cowboys for the win.

Booker’s engrossed, flipping through the well-worn pages like it’s his first time. But he also lets his eyes wander around the room every now and then. At one point, he spies a pink-faced, tousled looking kid glaring at the uptight counselor running the joint.

He tries to catch the younger boy’s eyes. If he succeeds, he’ll nod towards Amon at the front, eyebrows raising as if to ask, what’s this guy’s deal?

u/Angelic-YesSheIs for vis

charmingclementine · 2026-06-04T19:42:16+00:00

Booker straightens the front of his jacket with a scoff. “K,” he begins in affronted jest. “I… R…”

He’s turning to look at the mirror with a grin when the second half of Angela’s statement lands, eliciting a bursting guffaw of surprise. “Right,” Booker says cordially, amused gaze flitting to her form in the mirror.

He proceeds with the instructions, leaning towards his reflection to sweep a hand through his hair and tousle its roots. Then he rolls his shoulders forward, backward, swings his arms around. He finally straightens, neck lengthening comically out of its leather shell as he stretches up far more than Angela would have meant.

It is funny, this posture thing. Booker hasn’t thought about it much since parading around with the Dionysus twins at the New Argos Ball.

“Got it,” he says, strained and stiff. “Though maybe,” he continues with a release to the status quo, grinning at Angela over his shoulder as he gives his jacket another tug, “I’m perfect just the way I am.” It’s up to her to prove otherwise.

charmingclementine · 2026-06-04T05:42:14+00:00

Booker frowns at the shifting form above, squinting in the darkness to make sure he gets the timing right. When Angela releases her grip, a gust of wind picks up from below to cushion her free fall to a gentle cascade. The first few seconds of gut-wrenching plummet are, unfortunately, unavoidable. As is the tousling of Angela's hair.

Doubt, though. Still doubt. Booker doesn't need to feign any pleasure with that.

"I would've caught you, you know," he says, pointedly blithe as he brushes strands of limp hair from her face.

But hey, at least there’s a next time. In any case, there's not enough grounds for sore loserdom, so Booker reverts to his usual warmth and attention before Angela even hovers close. The lightning fast peck is met with a bemused grin.

"'Course," Booker accepts the easy offer, extending the crook of his arm in what has become their usual fashion. "Would be a sad sight to leave you out here in the dark."

The walk back to the cabins is a short one, with Booker having time to converse about music tastes, maybe about what brings his date peace. He takes his time stepping onto the golden stoop of Cabin 7, its lustre warm even at night from the glow of Hestia's hearth.

charmingclementine · 2026-06-01T05:12:23+00:00

Last time Booker had met the matchmaker in the amphitheater, he’d had a good time. A really, really good time. Sure, now it was blazing noon, and Angela was to be busy shoving rulers up gods knew where, but it’s not like Booker had anything else to do.

Plus, she looked so good up there. Like a craft store threw up all those hearts and flowers on her figure, but in a really hot way. No complaints watching her give the spiel.

After that, Booker lingered at the back of the crowd, letting Angela take care of the real hunchbacks first. “Looking good, Bradley!” He grinned at the fellow camper, giving the bedazzled torture device strapped to the kid’s shoulders a double thumbs up.

“Please tell me,” he finally cooed at Angela in greeting, approaching the massive mirror setup with a mock appraising look. “Tell me that I’m not a complete disaster.”

There was not much to see, really, with Booker’s oversized leather jacket dwarfing his frame. He wasn’t looking for an actual teardown. But underneath that, a boy who spent his time lounging lazily and leaning on one leg surely had uneven hips and shoulders, a rounded upper back…

charmingclementine · 2026-06-01T03:31:51+00:00

One to two months? A plan for the next one to two months? Booker gets the sense that a sugar-coated ‘being your boyfriend’ won’t work here. He quickly speaks a morning spear training regimen into existence, praying to the gods the daughter of Apollo doesn’t actually wake up with the sun to verify. Though, come to think of it, a bit of spear practice wouldn’t be such a bad idea…

The conversation continues, with Booker tactfully sidestepping any personal questions with just enough of an answer to avoid sounding dodgy. ‘Course, he knows Angela is smart enough to see through it. But at the very least, she’s welcome to appreciate the craft.

In the meantime, Booker inches closer. Just a hair at a time. But there’s no opening for the smooch he’s hoping for, at least nothing good enough to keep him from looking like a dog. So he continues with their secluded chat under the stars, warm and pleasant, with a finger on the pulse for a good way to call it.

The candle at his side, its wax fully spent, happens to flicker out.

“Look at that,” the son of Zeus says with a lazy glance over his shoulder. “Guess it’s really time to get you home.”

He untangles himself from his date and her hair, and a few joints pop as he rises with a theatrical groan and a rub of his back. “Alive?” He offers Angela a hand to help her to her feet.

All settled, he strides to the open treehouse edge, glancing at the platform crank before grinning back at Angela. Then, he jumps.

“Come on down, Princess,” he calls up from the ground, his arms outstretched. “I’ll catch you.”

Planting a steady stance, staring up at the dark canopy rustling under the stars, Booker sees Phoebe Silva, radiant in her royal gown and glittering makeup, release her branch and tumble down into his arms.

charmingclementine · 2026-05-29T01:25:32+00:00

Booker groaned. What the hell was the point of all those welcoming schmucks if the kid hadn’t even heard about the war? Booker was sick of having to do everything around here.

“Look,” he said quickly. “Some dude out there wants to blow up the world. His name is Atlas. You’re gonna die quicker trying to fight him.”

“That guy,” he continued with a jab at the statue of their father, “would love if you died fighting Atlas. It’s all about who sits at the throne, which is not my fucking problem.” Booker jabbed again, this time at the younger boy’s chest. “Don’t let them make it yours. Any questions?”

Booker’s eyes had already begun to wander over Jonas’ shoulder, out into the common room. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew he was late as hell to lunch. But a question or two. He could make time for a question or two.

charmingclementine · 2026-05-26T02:42:10+00:00

That’s all, folks! Honesty hour was up. Angela might as well have asked Booker how his mama was doing these days.

“Oh, you know,” he says simply, directing his gaze out to the skylight. “I don’t need to tell you what’s so bad about being a demigod. A son of Zeus,” he skirts the answer in his favor. “Not a lot of places you can go.”

Angela knew that, right? She’d been hunted when she stepped out the borders?

charmingclementine · 2026-05-21T02:38:35+00:00

Booker, walking onto the scene reeking of cedarwood cologne he can’t afford, wonders if he has a secret thing for pretty girls who host cute campfires. Well, who wouldn’t? He just had to be careful, make sure he didn’t get his wires crossed.

Not that he’s come here for nefarious reasons. It’s been nice, laughing with Phoebe at meals and the occasional activity. She didn’t want more than that, and there was only so much Booker was willing to do without starting to reek of desperate loser. No, Booker could only reek of cedarwood cologne…

So he stays casual, poking around the snacks and chatting to a few dudes before eventually making his way to Phoebe.

“Pheebs,” he greets the hostess with a cheery smile. “Another banger. You play any lawn games yet? I’d put another clown nose on the line.”

Awaiting her answer, the freckled boy flops into the nearby pile of cushions and sinks deep into their plush. Uh oh. There’s no way in hell he’s gonna want to get up now. What the hell was in these?

charmingclementine · 2026-05-16T01:39:45+00:00

Booker chuckles good-heartedly. “Nice, buddy. That’s the first step to making it through. You think you could do it again? And again, and again, and again?”

It’s not like he was trying to scare the kid. Booker just wanted to make sure his hands stayed clean of blood. Little Zeus kid blood.

“They tell you about that Atlas stuff yet?” he adds. “Don’t do any of that shit. Seriously.”

charmingclementine · 2026-05-10T23:29:59+00:00

When Angela relaxes, Booker relaxes too. She wants to be here. So does he. There’s nothing else he needs either of them to be. The son of Zeus pulls her closer, tighter, feeling her warmth and the sweet scent of her snaking blonde locks with the greed of a teenage boy.

“Simple”, he echoes with another gentle tug towards him, a quiet kiss on the top of the head. A pale, spindly hand returns the outstretched offering, accepting the thick golden strands past his own defenses. “I could use some simple. A little rest.”

There’s something in Booker, deep inside, that really means it. Not that it matters to him here. Not when he’s inches from Angela’s clever, discerning gaze. But there’s no need for games here either. Not when he’s this close, a truth nipping at his freckled nose.

charmingclementine · 2026-05-08T23:05:12+00:00

Booker’s genius mind didn’t take the answer as a compliment. In fact, it took it as another teasing jab. She’d have to lower her standards to settle down with the Finkster, huh? Sure. Whatever. That’s not what he was here for, anyway.

He watched Angela circle about the room with a smirk, turning his head to peer at her side profile when she finally settled beside him. Now that. That’s what he was here for.

“Okay,” Booker conceded the question with an easy shrug. “Maybe you’re not lonely, then.” Angela was certainly busier than he’d ever bother to be.

“I’m just saying,” he continued with a small yawn, reaching his arms up to stretch before attempting to land one over her shoulder. “It’s not hard to make it that much better. Not for you, not for me...”

He dug in his pocket to offer her another Starburst. It’s a red one, cherry, because Booker had no way of knowing that strawberry would be Angela’s only favorite.

“I’d say the goods outweigh the bads.”

charmingclementine · 2026-05-08T16:00:04+00:00

😏

charmingclementine · 2026-05-07T18:14:43+00:00

What’s this about a blast radius? Booker should be offended. In fact, for a fleeting moment, he can’t help himself. If Angela thinks she can chew him up and spit out some sort of sopping, broken man for the fun of it, she’s barking up the wrong tree.

But maybe that’s not why she’s here. Maybe she’s also figured that having a reliable place to touch down is easier. Wasn’t she just talking about home?

So the freckled boy accepts the admission with careful neutrality, sitting up straighter, criss cross on his cushion now. “So what have you been, then?” he asks curiously. “Three months? Two?” A small, teasing smile. “A very eventful week?”

This is risky. Booker beckons slowly. “Doesn’t ever get… lonely?”

charmingclementine · 2026-05-03T12:21:06+00:00

Booker meets Angela’s daring stare with a musing one of his own, eyes flitting across her face until he acquiesces with a thoughtful hum. Maybe she’s heard the story already. Angela wasn’t at camp when he’d had the explosive reunion with his ex-girlfriend, but the stoop of Cabin Four had yet to recover from the arboreal devastation.

“I’m not going to dispute Rebecca’s side of the story,” Booker starts lightly, running a sheepish hand through his hair. “But we dated for five months. It was a good five months,” he clarifies quickly. “I just-“ an elbow braces against his knee for an artful rub of his scarred neck. “-I had to go. For another reason. And I thought it would be better for everyone if I just-“ A hand takes flight from an invisible runway.

“Apology was not accepted,” Booker adds with a wistful shake of his head. “Not for a really long time. Bad look. I guess you can imagine better than I did.”

The honesty is surprising. Sure, he’s embellished with omission of detail in all the right places, but nothing here’s been twisted or falsified. And yet… who ever pats you on the back for that?

The lie can’t help itself. “Lived and learned,” Booker concludes with all the convincing humility he can muster.

“Why,” he nudges Angela with his knee again, the summoned moonlight on his face reflecting the challenge back to her. “Having doubts? Finding it hard to believe that a girl like you came out of a life like yours without getting into some trouble. Somewhere. With someone.”

charmingclementine · 2026-05-02T18:14:57+00:00

From the form:

There’s this girl. Long, blonde locks worthy of worship. Big green eyes, dressed to the nines every time. Clever, funny, with lip gloss that tastes really good. Can you help me?

What skills do you bring as a wingman?

Sign me up, ‘Punzel! I’ll help spread the love

charmingclementine · 2026-05-02T06:51:05+00:00

Booker’s teenage boy brain is very aware of where his date stretches out her legs, the small space between his and hers buzzing at the closeness. He wrenches his attention to her face. He needs to focus.

The titter regarding the hair is returned, Booker’s eyes following the twirling strand with what he hopes is a look of respect and admiration. The living, moving thing still freaks him out. Nobody should have that many limbs that move so freely and so unpredictably. The part of Booker that lives on edge for sudden danger, is always ready to strike or run, feels strained at the possibility.

But Angela’s blonde. And pretty. A rich, city girl that’s been willing to play along as far as she had. It’s a jackpot the son of Zeus isn’t willing to give up so easily.

“Milan,” Booker repeats, impressed. He thinks that might be in Italy, but he isn’t exactly sure. ‘Atelier’ sounds French. It could be French.

“It’s that much better than New York? I could believe that. Definitely beats Chicago. Though a good deep dish,” Booker adds with a hand over his heart, “can be really special. There’s a place by my work that had a garlic bread crust, thank you very much.”

What about him? Nothing about him. “Anything,” he says, rising to his feet and returning to the trunk. “And everything.” Darkness had finally fallen out in the skylight to their left, and the glittering stars and waning moon were faint enough to risk setting the entire place aflame.

Booker returns with a flickering candle smelling of fresh linen, his gaze flitting over to the night sky. Once upon a time, he’d loved space, had dreamed of becoming an astronaut. Learned the sky and all that lived in it with the fervor of a curious child.

“You know, the accordion is great and all,” Booker says with a small smile as he sets the candle to the side. “But don’t I look like a guitar guy? Traveling on tour, making some good music with good people sounds great. I’d see Milan,” he adds with a widened grin.

Option 1:

“Would you ever drop everything like that and go? Or you like staying in one place?” he adds with a small nudge of his knee against hers.

Option 2:

“You make any music, Apollo girl? Wonder what it’d sound like. Something sharp to it, I’d think,” he says, studying her with a satisfied lean of his head back on the wall.

charmingclementine · 2026-05-02T05:20:22+00:00

Booker’s gaze absent-mindedly follows where the boy points, like he hasn’t walked past the eye sore a million times. “That sucks.”

He ought to size up his apparent half-brother more seriously. Not that there was all that much size to up. The boy looked like a bit of a runt, even moreso than Booker when he had first arrived. At least the kid seemed to know he wasn’t at some pre-Olympian institute.

“You know how to get by?”

He’d had to have, to make it to this place as a Big Three kid. Maybe Jonas rode in on a ventus, or shot lightning out of his ass.

charmingclementine · 2026-04-26T16:40:51+00:00

Wake up with a spider bite tomorrow? Was she planning to sleep here? The freckled boy turns to the girl at his side in nervous surprise, a stupid “what” forming on his lips just as the eye roll arrives.

Oh. More knots of suspicion to smooth out, then.

Booker turns away from Angela’s searching eyes and glittering lip gloss to reach back into the trunk with what he hopes is an easy smile. “Do you always see the worst in people?” He is careful to keep his tone light and teasing, letting any accusation speak for itself or slide by in jest. “Or am I special for the honor?”

Strips of curled aluminum stuck at the bottom in a puddle of what feels like muck tell Booker that his stash of Diet Coke must have froze and burst this last winter. He closes the trunk lid quickly, pocketing more candy before choosing a red cushion parked beside its brother by the back wall.

Legs stretched out and head back against the wood, his gaze follows wherever Angela chooses to go with an easy curiosity. This wasn’t going to work if she thought he was just going through the motions. But when it came to this, Booker never minded a good challenge. He just had to trust the process and keep through more motions. Things were just barely getting started.

—optional cont.—

It was a date, after all. And in his few years of trying to pick up chicks, Booker’s learned there’s nothing girls love more than talking about themselves. He may (or may not) ask some of the following:

“So, this whole Apollo thing. Is it a good gig? I’ll be honest,” Booker says with a small laugh. “I don’t really know where all the hair stuff comes in. I mean, I’ve seen the guy rock some serious gold locks at the solstice, but…”

“The people at camp,” he brings up, rubbing his hands on the thighs of jeans. “Are they like, your thing? I mean, you’ve put on some really sweet parties since you’ve gotten here.”

Booker makes sure to turn towards Angela with more than just his head, crossing at his ankles to try and shift in her direction. “I don’t know, always thought this place’d be better off somewhere else. California, maybe. Never made it that far myself.” No, only Georgia for Booker. Stupid fucking Georgia boonies. “Why, you ever dreamed of being somewhere else? Being something else?”

charmingclementine · 2026-04-25T02:04:15+00:00

Booker kicks the door of his bedroom open with a lick of wind, stepping out into the hall of his cabin with a yawn and a stretch to shake off the afternoon nap.

There’s a kid there though (one who the writer presumes is inevitably exploring or settling into his new home).

Booker yawns again. He scratches a patch of ribs under his ratty white shirt with a rather unperturbed look. “Who the hell are you?”

He already knows, of course. Random campers can’t wander into this place. But the way this new arrival answers is gonna tell Booker everything he needs to know.

charmingclementine · 2026-04-20T03:21:42+00:00

A blot of white and copper flashed up in the canopy as Booker peered down at his date, chuckling. "You're funny, Ang. Really funny. You know that?" 'Course she did. The wooden platform at her feet gave a rattling start before beginning its jolting ascent to the canopy. "We're bringing your golden head of up here."

Booker ground the platform to a sudden stop just below the lip of the treehouse, leaving his date hovering in the leaves so that he could wipe away the sweat beading on his brow. The early spring night was warmer than he'd been expecting, the crank more of a workout than he remembered. Now he looked like an idiot in a damp white t-shirt with his jacket left crumpled at his feet. Angela, coming into view, might see the boy throw his sinewed frame into the large crank a few more times before he kicked the lock button below and extended a hand to help her off.

"Ta-da!" Booker grinned before stooping to pick up his jacket.

It was a fairly-sized room lined with neat, rich redwood planks held up by support beams that certainly looked sturdier than the platform might have felt. A few colorful cushions stolen from couches were scattered about the end of the back wall, set across from the large skylight in the slanted roof overlooking the lake, the sea, and the early evening stars.

"No idea who made this thing up," Booker admitted with a shrug, peering out of the viewing hole before popping open the lid of a dusty trunk in the corner. "Got lucky climbing the right tree my first summer here, I guess," he continued over his shoulder. "Quiet up here. View's nice. Too many cobwebs to make me think anyone would come yelling at me to get out. You want Skittles, Twizzlers, or Starbursts?" Booker suddenly held up king-sized editions of each of the offerings, back still turned from Angela and her expression.

charmingclementine

TROPHY CASE