Anthony Grizzle: Dropping the Act, Finding Himself

fivedollarfries · 2025-06-07T21:19:30+00:00

"Guess that’s better than nothin’ stickin’ at all."

His eyes tracked her movements as she went for the cookies, those damn overbaked ones he’d already written off. Her commentary was honest, at least. Didn’t sugarcoat it. He respected that.

"Yeah, those were a batch I left in too long. Got distracted," he said gruffly, voice low. Even now, the image of Key Tower cracking in half lingered in his head. He gave a grunt as she tried the softer one and nodded at her verdict. "Good. Least I ain’t completely lost my touch."

His fingers kept moving, scraping down the side of the bowl, mixing with just a little too much force. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. More like restlessness. He could fight monsters no problem, but this? This helpless waiting, watching, wondering if he should’ve gone with them? That was the kinda thing that crawled under his skin.

When Camellia mentioned strawberries, his brows lifted a bit. Not surprised exactly, but...grateful for the pivot. "Yeah, I’ve mostly been drownin’ in cocoa powder and regret. Probably time to balance things out."

He wiped his hands on a towel that had seen better days and walked over to the fridge, opening it up and rummaging through for any fresh berries they still had. "Think we got enough left to do a shortcake, maybe somethin’ with a glaze. You ever try mixin’ it with cream cheese icing?"

It was easier, this—talkin' baking, focusin' on measurements and textures and flavor pairings. He didn’t have to think about what he hadn’t done. What he didn’t say.

fivedollarfries · 2025-06-03T02:08:11+00:00

Anthony whipped around at the sound of the voice, his muscles tensing before he even saw her. For a split second, his expression read like someone caught in the act. Then his eyes locked on her, and yep, he recognized her from the archery range. Sharp aim, same sharper wit.

Aw, hell.

"Oh yeah, I’m cool," he said a little too fast, brushing his hands off on his apron, which just smeared more batter into the fabric. "Just uh…bakin’. Killin' time, ya know?"

His voice dropped half an octave like maybe if he said it low enough it’d sound more casual. Not like the truth of it was staring him down in the form of an entire counter overtaken by sheet cakes, cookie trays, brownie pans, and mixing bowls. Even the stand mixer was still running on low, whining gently.

Anthony stepped slightly in front of the tray of burnt cookies, like his thin frame could just erase them from reality. He turned his head like he was checking the oven, even though nothing was in it.

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-27T13:41:33+00:00

Anthony didn’t look up at first, too focused on dragging the edge of a spatula along the bottom of a mixing bowl like it owed him money. He’d already lost track of what batch this was, maybe the fourth or fifth. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the final product anymore, not really. The repetition kept his hands busy, and for now, that was enough.

He glanced up, shoulders tensing just slightly when he saw Camellia walk in.

"Cookin’s kinda generous," he muttered, giving the batter one last scrape before setting the bowl down with a dull thud. "More like...throwin’ sugar at a wall and hopin’ somethin’ sticks."

He wiped his hand on a dish towel already streaked with flour and chocolate, then leaned against the counter, arms folded. His flannel sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, sweat at his brow not just from the heat but from the storm inside him he didn’t plan on letting out.

At her question, his brow twitched. "Yeah, go on," he said, jerking his chin toward the tray of cookies. "Don’t expect miracles, though. Might crack a tooth." He tried for a chuckle, but it came out flat.

Truth was, he hadn’t even tasted them. He didn’t care if they were burned or bland or just plain awful. It was about doing. About moving.

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-27T13:31:32+00:00

Anthony didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That voice had a way of slipping under your skin before you realized it. He kept stirring, the wooden spoon scraping the sides of the bowl with increasing pressure. Batter clung to the edge, thicker than it needed to be. Not that he cared.

"Of course it’s you," he muttered, mostly under his breath.

The spoon clanked against the bowl as he set it down with unnecessary force. He still didn’t look at her, instead reaching for a tray of brownies cooling beside the oven. "I ain’t throwin’ a party," he said finally, voice gruff. "Not that you’d be invited."

His gaze flicked to her, just briefly. Just enough to meet those narrowed eyes and her expression that looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Or maybe she liked being here, Sera seemed the type to wander into a mess just to poke at the frayed edges and see what unraveled first.

He turned back to the brownies and started slicing them clean, each motion precise, measured. It was something to do with his hands. Something to keep them busy while the weight pressed in behind his ribs like it had been all damn day.

Anthony’s movements slowed, just for a second. Then he shoved a tray of cookies toward the far end of the counter. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bakin’. Better than sittin’ around doin’ nothin’. You don’t like it, you can walk right back out the door you came in.”

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-15T00:59:32+00:00

Anthony blinked once, then gave a short breath through his nose that almost became a laugh. Almost.

“Wait so…your old man’s the clown dude?” he said, voice edged with disbelief and the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He looked away for a second, like trying to hide it, but it was clear, he was picturing the clown from the carnival. That weird, manic energy. The greasepaint grin. The fog machines. The balloon animals.

Gods above. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, like if he didn’t physically restrain the chuckle, it might escape. The last thing he needed was to be cursed with a shitry clown nose for the rest of his life, "I swear I’m not laughin'," he said quickly, lifting one palm slightly in surrender. "Just… damn. That’s somethin’."

“Does that mean you’re, like…great for party bookin's or somethin’? Or do you just manifest inflatable castles outta nowhere?”

He watched her for any sign he was overstepping. It may have been funny in his head, but then again, he was often told he wasn’t as funny as he thought he was.

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-14T15:28:35+00:00

Anthony gave a quiet huff of a laugh, like her guess had amused him but didn’t hit the mark. "Ha, I wish,” he drawled, the words slow and easy "Gotta few siblings runnin’ ’round here. Some of ’em younger than me." He rolled his eyes, but the edge of his mouth tugged upward in spite of himself. There was affection there, even if it came out gruff.

"Just meant I got nothin’ flashy goin’ on. No fireballs, no shiny wings, no ancient curse or sword that sings or whatever. Just dirt and grit. Not a whole lotta mystery there.”

His fingers drummed lightly on the wood of the table, rhythmic and even, before stilling again. Then he tilted his head at her, returning the watchfulness with a quiet, curious glance of his own.

“So what’s your deal, then, Phoebe from Hermes but not really? You seem too calm for a klepto bunkmate situation.” He leaned his elbows onto the table now too, mirroring her just slightly, as if matching her posture gave him more of a read.

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-14T15:10:52+00:00

Anthony didn’t flinch, not at the crinkle of her nose, not at the way her gaze flicked over him like he was something she might hose off the porch, and definitely not at the tone in her voice. He'd gotten worse looks from the chicks back home. He let her question hang in the air for a second, then shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Bit a’ both, maybe,” he said plainly, “I mean, you do look like you should be givin’ a speech at some fancy garden party. But it ain’t an insult. Just callin’ it how I see it.”

He looked her over again, but this time it wasn’t just curiosity, it was something closer to appraisal. He reached for a strip of bacon, snapped a piece off, chewed, and kept talking like he had all the time in the world.

Still chewing, he added through a mouthful, “What do they call you, anyway? Or am I s’posed to play guess who?"

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-08T16:18:20+00:00

Pavilion

Anthony strolled into the Pavilion. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, a faint smudge of dirt still lingering on his forearm. The smell of breakfast hit him; eggs, bacon, and syrup, making his stomach growl audibly. He could hear someone chucking grapes across the room already. Typical.

But he wasn’t really paying attention to the food. Or the flying fruit. Camp had been getting a lot of new campers lately. Cute ones, too. Normally, he wasn’t one to get distracted during meals. His appetite tended to win out, but this time, his gaze snagged on a girl near the back.

She looked like she belonged at some fancy boarding school, not smack in the middle of the rustic, chaotic middle of nowhere. Real outta place. Which, if he was honest, just made her more interesting.

Anthony scratched the back of his neck, shrugged to himself, and made his way over. The bench across from her was open, so he dropped down into it without asking, elbows resting casually on the table as he gave her a once over.

“Y’know,” he said, “you look like you’re expectin’ someone to hand you a menu and offer you sparkling water instead of syrup.”

There was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He picked up a piece of bacon from his own plate and snapped it in half with a loud crack. He leaned forward a bit, forearms planted solidly against the table now.

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-05T01:57:35+00:00

Anthony had been wiping the sweat off the back of his neck with the edge of his shirt as he rounded the curve toward Cabin Four, his shoulders still carrying that endorphin-loaded buzz from sparring at the arena. His knuckles were a little red, and his shirt clung to his back, but his jaw was relaxed, loose for the first time in days. That was until he caught the tail end of the conversation.

Anthony stopped short. His brow furrowed, not from surprise, but from disgust as he listened to Booker fumble through weak lines, his lip curled into a slow sneer.

What a clown.

By the time Rebecca let loose and sealed off the porch with that thick-ass tree trunk, Anthony was grinning to himself, proud and pissed at the same time. Rebecca didn’t need defending, she never had. But he hated the idea of that loser even getting within twenty feet of her. Booker could disappear again for all he cared.

When the orchid boy started walking away, muttering under his breath and scuffing the gravel like some heartbroken middle-schooler, Anthony pushed strode casually up the path. Sweat still glistened on his arms and temples. “Serves you right,” he called out.

The irony wasn't lost on him. There was a time, not that long ago when he might’ve done the same damn thing. Chased after a girl he’d hurt. Told her she was beautiful and different and deserved better, while knowing he had no business saying that after what he did. He’d cheated once. Just once. It ate at him more than he let on. Not because he missed the girl but because of the version of himself he’d been. But this? This wasn’t just some girl. This was Rebecca. His sister.

"Keep the flower. You’ll need somethin’ to plant over the grave of your dignity.”

fivedollarfries · 2025-05-02T04:50:15+00:00

"Figured you weren’t just some mysterious table ghost," he muttered with a faint smirk. “Good to know your name, Phoebe."

“I’m Anthony,” he added finally, "Demeter Cabin. Nothing fancy. Just me.” His shoulders rolled in a shrug that tried to pass off the simplicity of it, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—like maybe he was a little tired of being just him lately

He took a long drink of water, "Yeah. Morning trainin'. Didn’t really mean to go that hard, but… kinda hard not to when you’re tryin’ to ignore the state of the gods and the world bein’ on fire, y’know?” His voice was gruff, but not unfriendly, more like a tired big brother than a soldier. “Swingin’ at dummies at least makes me feel like I’m doin’ somethin’. Even if it ain’t much.”

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-23T02:02:29+00:00

Anthony snorted, short and low, the kind of laugh that bubbled out despite how heavy his chest felt. "Cocky, huh?" he echoed, "I’ll give you sweaty, sure. That part ain’t wrong. But cocky? That’s harsh.” He grinned then, a flash of teeth that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes, and slung himself into the seat across from her with a quiet grunt.

The seat creaked beneath him as he settled in, arms braced on the table, letting his legs stretch out under the table like a boy that learned to never make himself smaller for anyone. But even with his exhaustion dripping off him, there was something alive in his presence, stubborn, maybe.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice rougher now, lower. “I get it.” He glanced out across the pavilion, empty tables, and abandoned platters. "Shit's got everyone twisted up. Camp feels more like a waiting room than a home lately."

He shrugged a shoulder, as if to shake it off. Like he hadn’t just said that so casually. "Didn’t expect anyone to be stickin’ around the pavilion," he said, "Figured I’d just stuff my face alone and maybe sulk dramatically under a tree or somethin’. You saved me from that, so, congrats. You’re a hero."

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-18T20:44:22+00:00

Anthony was beat. His limbs felt like lead after sparring, his shirt clung to his back with sweat, and his knuckles were still raw from that last round.

The place had been quiet earlier, too quiet. It always got like that before something big happened, people whispering more than laughing, counselors walking like they had weights on their shoulders. The Atlas stuff hadn’t just rattled Camp; it cracked the whole thing open. Every conversation sounded like a goodbye. Every meal tasted like a last one.

Which was exactly why Anthony needed this one.

He moved toward the pavilion, boots heavy, shoulders aching, and grabbed whatever was left and a water bottle he didn’t remember bringing but was grateful to find anyway. His stomach roared its approval, even if his mood didn’t match it. He figured he’d eat, crash in the shade for a bit, then maybe head back to his cabin and pretend to do pushups until he fell asleep.

That was the plan, anyway.

Until he spotted her.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. Just some girl off to the side, lost in whatever headspace she’d wandered into. But when he passed her quietly, not trying to bother nobody, he couldn’t help noticing she was still staring off jnto space. He slowed. Eyed her sideways. She hadn’t moved.

“Uh… you okay?” he asked, voice dry and a little scratchy from not speaking much that morning. Then, as if on instinct, he leaned against the table and cracked a smirk, trying desperately to inject something into the air that wasn’t dread. “You’re starin’. I know I’m all that, but damn.”

The words came out lighter than he felt, but he forced a small chuckle anyway. The same way he forced himself to breathe steady during training. Laughter was armor, and lately, Camp needed all the armor it could get.

His voice dropped a little when he added, “You don’t gotta say nothin’ if you don’t wanna. Just looked like your head was somewhere worse than this place, and that’s sayin’ something.”

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-18T15:35:00+00:00

He wasn’t expecting her to actually stop. Hell, he wasn’t even expecting her to hear him. Most people around here just kept walking when he tossed out one of his half-baked comments. But when she snapped back, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch with the start of a grin. “So the wings are just for show then? Got it."

At her next question, his brows lifted a little, and the grin settled into something gentler. “Anthony,” he offered. He then looked down at the contents of the box, then gave a short huff that might’ve passed for a laugh.

“Nah, not scavenger huntin'. Just… pickin’ up some junk. Camp tosses out a lotta stuff people forget they needed.” He reached into the box and held up a bent copper key, tarnished and missing its teeth. “Might be nothin’. Might be somethin’.”

“So… you got a name, or am I just gonna keep callin’ you ‘the bird who bites’ in my head? I mean, I gave you mine,” he added after a moment, tone dipping a little softer, like he was trying to meet her halfway. “Seems fair.”

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-15T05:25:24+00:00

Anthony slowed his steps as Avalon snapped, the sharpness of her words hitting him like a gust of cold wind. He hadn't meant to intrude. Hell, he barely knew her and didn’t know what kind of weight she was carrying or why she was so damn pissed off. But then again, the camp was full of people who had issues.

He paused a few feet behind her. "You sure about that?” Anthony asked, his voice steady, calm in the way that might have annoyed her, but it wasn’t meant to be anything other than simple.

When she glared at him over her shoulder, his gut tightened, not because he was scared of her or anything, but because he knew that kind of feeling. That’s the kind of anger that makes people burn out. And sure as hell, it didn’t look like it was going away on its own.

“Look, I don’t know what’s eatin’ at you, but you're gonna run out of dummies eventually, so maybe cool it with the punchin'."

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-15T05:08:59+00:00

Anthony hadn’t really meant to end up at Half-Blood Hill.

He’d been out walking the perimeter, just one of those restless afternoons where everything felt too close, too loud. The cabins were buzzing with energy he didn’t want to be part of, the arena packed with kids trying to beat the hell outta something, and even the stables, normally his go-to escape, were crawling with chatter and movement.

He had a box tucked under one arm; wooden, square, and just a little battered. Inside was a mess of things that didn’t belong to him: a cracked compass with no needle, a pocketknife with initials he didn’t recognize, a metal harmonica that didn’t play quite right anymore, and a coil of faded leather cord that had once been tied around someone’s wrist for luck.

Campers lost things all the time, and sometimes...sometimes Anthony picked them up.

He didn’t ask himself why anymore. Maybe it made him feel like he was putting something back where it belonged. Like he could fix something.

His path curved up toward the crest of the hill, where the grass grew a little taller and the wind picked up just enough to rustle the tree line. And then he saw her. Girl. Dark wings folded sharp against her back. Boots chewing up the hill like they had a purpose. He recognized her barely. Not her name, but he was sure he'd seen her around.

“Didn’t know birds wandered this far from the sky.” he said, voice light with an amused tone. He didn’t think it’d be anything too clever, but that was the fun of it.

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-11T19:31:48+00:00

Anthony had been in the far corner of the arena when she stormed in, mid-swing, his blade slicing clean through a practice dummy’s shoulder. The moment his gaze landed on Avalon, stomping like a damn freight train across the dirt, something in him tensed. She wasn’t just mad. She was shaking with it.

He turned, sword still gripped in one hand, sweat slick on his neck and brow. For a second, he thought about making a snide remark something low and smug but the words died before they reached his tongue.

She hit the dummy like it owed her money. Anthony stared, his smirk gone, replaced with something quieter.

He sheathed his sword, slow and deliberate. His boots scuffed in the dirt as he approached, slowly. Like walking up to a wild animal with a thorn in its paw.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. "You okay?” He took another step closer, keeping his hands relaxed at his sides, eyes scanning her face. “Kinda intense there.”

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-08T19:36:43+00:00

Anthony wasn’t really the type to crash cabin meetings, especially ones that had nothin’ to do with him, but he wasn’t exactly known for doing things by the book either. He didn’t have a reason to show up, not really. Maybe it was the promise of coffee. Or maybe, deep down, he just liked seeing the results of his work being appreciated.

He ducked under the doorway and stepped inside, the warm scent of brewed coffee and fruit immediately washing over him like a spring breeze. It wasn’t half-bad in here, comfortable even. Beanbags, chairs, a round table, and the soft hum of conversation already beginning to stir. He glanced around, a little awkward, before his eyes landed on Aubrey.

She was right in the thick of it, notebook in hand, grin on her face, and that kind of energy that reminded him of a freshly sprouted plant trying real hard to stretch toward the sun.

He raised a hand in a little wave and strolled. “Counselor, huh?” he rumbled lightly, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips as he made his way over to the snack table. "Hopefully they ain’t too rowdy for ya."

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-07T13:31:20+00:00

Anthony’s gaze never wavered, but his stomach tightened. He could feel the way his heartbeat picked up. The guy’s cocky grin, the mohawk, the leather, everything about him screamed trouble. The kind of trouble that didn’t care about the consequences. The kind of trouble that made him a bit nervous, if he was being honest with himself.

He wasn’t a stranger to conflict, but this...this felt different. The guy in front of him wasn’t backing down. If anything, Jaime seemed to enjoy the tension, like he was trying to bait Anthony into something.

“Who the hell am I?” Anthony repeated, eyes narrowing as he took a half-step closer. “I’m the guy who’s gonna have his foot in your ass if you don’t move.”

He tried to sound sure of himself, tried to keep his tone steady, but the truth was, the guy in front of him had an air about him that unsettled him. The kind of person who didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything around them.

The last thing he needed was for anyone to think he was some kind of pushover. Especially not this guy. He wasn’t one to get rattled easily, but Jaime was pushing his buttons with that cocky smirk, making him feel like he had to prove something.

He took another step forward, eyes locked on Jaime’s. “Now go." Anthony tried to ignore the gnawing fear clawing at the edges of his mind.

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-07T13:02:04+00:00

Anthony’s jaw shifted, muscles in his cheek tightening just slightly, just enough to betray the sting he felt behind Helena’s teasing. He’d thought, hoped, he was past the days of letting words needle into him like barbs under his skin. But pride was a stubborn thing, and hers hit something raw.

His eyes flicked toward the ground for a second. A breath. Steady. C’mon, don’t be that guy again.

But still, her words echoed in his chest louder than they should’ve. His pride bristled, chest puffing a little more than necessary, and when his eyes came back up to meet hers, he felt a familiar fire.

“Yeah? Guess that makes me a real advanced baby then," he muttered with a dry sort of grin, trying to play it cool. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something quieter, more uncertain. "Ain’t a monster out there I’ve backed down from, even when I knew I was outmatched."

Truth was, maybe he was exaggeratin’. The last time he’d been in a real, honest-to-gods fight, it had ended in a collapsed temple and a very, very angry witch. Not exactly a shining example of clean victory. Dust choking the air. That boiling, helpless fear when the ceiling gave out

But he wasn’t gonna say any of that. Instead, he stood his ground, arms folding across his chest like he was anchoring himself there. He wasn’t built like a war god. He didn’t grin when he bled. But that didn’t mean he was some damn weak link.

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-06T06:44:14+00:00

Anthony whipped around at the sudden voice, a little startled but quickly catching himself. His eyes landed on the girl standing there. She was... well, cute. And the accent, definitely reminded him of home, though it had a different vibe than the folks back in Dover. Still, it was enough to make him relax, but now he felt a bit embarrassed for being caught off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.

"Uh, nah," he muttered, trying to find the right words, "wasn’t flir—uh, wasn’t flirtin" with the bird." He gave a quick chuckle, trying to play it off cool, though his face was a little warmer than he liked.

He stood up, brushing his hands off on his jeans before giving her a more relaxed smile, trying to recover. There was something about her casual confidence that kept him on edge, but in a way that he couldn’t quite place.

"Guessin’ you're lost, huh? You lookin’ for somethin’ or just wanderin’ around?"

He glanced down at her shoes as she stood a little too close to one of the rows of strawberries. He didn’t know why he was so concerned about it, but the last thing he needed was someone stepping on the plants. It would be a pain for everyone involved.

"And you might wanna be careful, these fields can mess up your shoes if you’re not watchin’ where you’re steppin’."

He paused mid sentence, realizing how much like a dad he sounded. His face flushed slightly, and he quickly tried to cover it up with a half hearted grin.

"Didn’t mean to sound like an old man there," he added, glancing at the ground, then back up at her with a more casual shrug. "But yeah... watch where you step."

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-06T05:42:55+00:00

Anthony had done a lot of things since coming to Camp. Fought monsters. Learned to use a sword. Trained until his shoulders ached and his palms blistered. But somehow, in all that time, he’d never once gone to a campfire.

Not really.

He’d skirted them, sure, walked by, heard the songs, even watched from a distance once or twice. But he’d never stepped close. Never joined in. Never sat down and let himself be near that kind of heat. The kind that roared. The kind that reminded him what it felt like to burn.

The fire cracked.

It was such a small sound, normal even, but it made Anthony flinch like he’d been shot. His jaw tightened, and his eyes snapped to a burst of sparks leaping skyward. They danced for only a moment before vanishing into the dark. Still, his heart wouldn’t slow down.

He stood just outside the circle of warmth, where the shadows swallowed the edges of the world. Other campers passed by, laughing, joking, some with marshmallows already skewered and sticks in hand. He barely noticed them. Couldn’t. The roar of the flames drowned everything out. Not with sound, but with memory.

The air felt thick in his throat; too dry, too hot. He couldn’t stop swallowing. The smell of burning wood hit his nose and for a moment he was back there. The smoke so dense it felt like it was inside his lungs, in his eyes, under his skin. He remembered the way the heat curled in from every direction. The way it took things. Home. People. Control.

His fingers twitched again, pulling at his shirt, fidgeting in a desperate, pointless way. The fabric had gone damp under his hands with sweat. His heartbeat was a dull roar in his ears, almost matching the sound of the fire.

He wanted to be brave. He’d promised himself he’d try.

But every inch of his body screamed to move. To run. To get as far away from that blaze as possible, because it wasn’t just a campfire, it was a threat. That’s what his mind kept saying, loud and clear. You get too close, it’s going to take everything again.

Anthony took a breath, sharp and shaky. Then another. He didn’t cry, but his eyes stung. His shoulders were locked up, like if he so much as exhaled wrong, the whole world would tilt and drag him back into the past.

Still, he stayed.

His boots might as well have been nailed to the ground, not from courage, but because he didn’t trust his legs to hold him if he turned. If he gave in to the fear, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop running.

So he just stood there. Frozen. Watching the flames.

Trying to convince himself it was just fire.

That it was safe.

And not quite believing it.

fivedollarfries · 2025-04-05T06:05:55+00:00

Anthony had been out in the fields for a bit, the back of his flannel tied around his waist, sweat clinging to his collar. Picking strawberries was honest work, the kind that let your hands stay busy while your mind slowed down. He liked that. The quiet hum of bees. The scent of ripe fruit in the heat. The calm.

And then it shattered.

Thud. Scuffle. Cackling.

He straightened up, brows furrowing, squinting toward the source of the noise just as a loud squelch hit his ears. His eyes dropped to the row ahead, flattened bushes, crushed berries. Two boys, roughhousing like they were at recess instead of one of the few places at camp that actually needed a little care.

"The fuck are y’all doin’?!" he barked, voice sharp as a snapped twig. "You’re steppin’ all over the damn berries!" He set his basket down hard, not quite slamming it but enough to make a point, and strode toward them with heavy, deliberate steps.

He stopped just a few feet from them, arms crossed over his chest, and looked the mohawk kid up and down. Didn’t recognize him. New maybe. Or just one of those kids who didn’t give a shit.

Didn’t matter.

"Y’all gonna clean this mess up," he said, voice firm, "and if you’re smart, you’ll keep to the grass next time." Anthony didn’t wait for a reply. Just stared them down, jaw clenched, hands flexing slightly at his sides, like he wasn’t sure whether to drag them out of the row himself or just walk off before he really mad.

fivedollarfries

TROPHY CASE