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Adam Brontes's drug of choice is control, and alcohol of course, but mostly control. His particular type control is difficult to spot because it is not the more common variety. It is a subtle thing, like being the one who asks the questions, or deliberately answering either too much, or too little, cracking certain jokes, resorting to flattery or even insult, all to steer people into or away from certain directions. In this way, all interactions, no matter how invasive they may be, would flow towards environments of his choosing, where most lines delivered by other parties are more or less within the realm of the expected, and unforeseen events are kept to a minimum. This, is part of why the man's so adept at paying closer attention to the more minute details of their responses.

For the jaws of men like this to drop takes quite a bit. For them to be left perplexed, or with no witty retort left in the bag, takes a special kind of occurrence. And, to someone like Adam, who sees life as a series of challenges, anyone capable of leaving him in that kind of position deserves respect. This son of Zeus is not as sore a loser as his divine parent and will, at times, be the first to tip his hat to those who've bested him at his own game, regardless of whether they did so intentionally, incidentally or accidentally. Even if Adam's proverbial thumbs up aren't as evident as they should be, from time to time, or if the reason behind the subtle praise is lost on the recipient - this might just be one of these cases, Adam felt - the man will hold on to these moments, and these people will be moving up, in his mind.

"I could ask around especially if you’re goin’ta be here a while." she'd said. A single, dry cough emerged from the man's throat, followed by a handful of chuckles. The laugh was short and nearly silent - he wouldn't want to make Genie too conscientious of the very free-spiritedness he found so refreshing - but he could feel the hints of tears forming on the corner of his eye. Though short-lived, this was the purest he'd laughed in quite a while. The line had caught him so off-guard it'd felt akin to a bucket of freezing water to the face, or a good old sock on the jaw, piercing through his many defences and giving him a good shake. A smile of sheer entertainment he could not contain showed from ear to ear, as he pondered over how to best tell this particular ray of sunshine in front of him she was most definitely not allowed to change. Ever.

"Not even five minutes into the conversation and you're already offering to put in a good word for me with your friends, eh? I must've done something right.” - he said, allowing these words to simmer in the air for a good long while, before being reminded of the girl's previous question: "Oh, and I don't really know how long I'll be. I've no plans, really. Just playing it by ear.”

Training. This had always been one of Camp’s great mysteries to Adam. Why? Because there was no conceivable, logical way that he should enjoy it. And yet he did. Combat was different. Predatory, powerful, mind over man and superiority among your peers. Combat was primal and incredible, especially if you won, but even if you lost. To enjoy cutting one’s teeth is the mark of a predator, and the man had the blood of one of the greatest in the history of the world pulsing through his veins. But that wasn’t training.

Training was grunt-work dialled up to eleven. Repetitive, exhausting, dull drills that would only ever stop if you weren’t doing them right. Logically speaking, people should do these things exclusively out of necessity. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there and, for those of immortal descent, this metaphor and others like it rang far less figuratively than they should… and this demigod had the scars to prove it. And yet, Adam had always found he enjoyed these tedious tasks.

It was something this son of Zeus had been trying to wrap his mind around for years. Anyone could see there was a certain testosterone-driven charm to repeatedly bashing something, not to mention an aspect of catharsis when one would channel all the built-up aggression in the body and let it run wild, but there was more to it than that. A certain je ne sais quoi. An Apollo kid or some other Muse-driven poet might compare it to a dance, and there was a certain annoying aspect to that, not simply because he couldn’t quite refute it, but because it seemed to clash with his man-pride for some reason.

Image had never been too important to Brontes, but he had somewhat cultivated himself as a man of acquired tastes, and this brutish activity had always struck him as being a little off in this picture he’d painted of himself.

”Boys will be boys, I suppose”, Adam told himself with a half-derisive smile as the layer of perspiration covering his body soaked the cotton shirt beneath the leather chest piece, or bunched up into droplets and ran down exposed skin until it reached an edge and fell to the ground. A sword gripped in his right hand flurried at the wooden dummy before him, the occasional chip flying out. The blade was tinged with the golden-brown tonality campers would associate with Celestial Bronze - a son of the Sky Father had means, it seemed.

The surroundings echoed with thuds as sword met wood, some hard, some soft, threaded only by the rustling of steps and the occasional crackling of electric sparks around him - an unavoidable tell that this particular spawn of Zeus was having more fun than he’d care to admit.

As the set drew to a close, Adam grasped his knees to regain of breath and allow for the cold air to cool his body. For the first time in a good while, the demigod looked around him, to inspect his surroundings and decide whether to continue with training, or call it a day.

Adam had always had a soft spot for these blissfully unaware people. Their lives seemed simpler... purer. Perhaps it was their lack of awareness towards the subtleties of the world around them that allowed them to accept the harshest of realities. By lack of understanding they remained... sane. They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass undigested through the body of a bird.

For one such as himself, who decided from a young age that understanding these subtleties, acknowledging these interstices, would be the very thing that solidified his chances at survival, these people seemed... What did they seem like? What ever it was, it was appealing. Most people portray themselves as capable players of this complex game - even if it really isn't true - and those types he's never really felt much remorse in misleading or tricking. But to not be aware of the game itself... that kind of innocence he himself had never been privy to, and it felt like something that should be protected so that those lucky enough to have it could have a shot at keeping it.

About half-way through his little inner rant, the man had realised he'd simply been pensively staring at Genie moving back into the steaming forge she'd just left for the better of a handful of seconds. A quick chuckle escaped his lips as he reminded himself that his father was the God of Justice after all, and wondered if this was one of the good person aspects he'd inherited from dear old dad.

Finally deciding to wrap up the slew of weapons carefully placed around him and place them back into the bag, the man would raise from his seat and follow the teen into her domain.

"Why thank you. You've got more faith in me than I do myself, it seems..." - she didn't... she reeeeally didn't, but it was a nice little white lie to say, and Adam did like to earn points when and where he could - "I've been back a few days. Not too long, just enough to catch some shut-eye and get used to living here all over again. Gotten myself a new sister, it seems. She seems nice. A bit forward at times," - he said, being reminded of their, shall we say, memorable first encounter - " but nice. And yourself? How go things with this new girlfriend of yours?"

At Daphne's entrance into the room, Adam's eyes moved to inspect the interloper. She was naked, and darted out of the door as quickly as she'd come in. As soon as the door closed behind her, the man's left eyebrow rose slightly, no doubt revealing a moment of sheer surprise. But, once again, the little girl before him had been able to expertly remove this Sky Father's son from his pensive mood. By the time his sister had come into the room a second time, Brontes's eyes were firmly planted on the little girl before him who'd once again captured his attention, the warm smile on the man's face had grown.

Something about this little girl was telling him her questions weren't quite as pure as he'd originally believed, but even if that was the case, it was still very much amusing. Brilliant., he thought to himself. Still, as he was about to dispel this girl's question on reflex - before adding in a bit of fuel to the fire himself, of course - Adam found himself stopping in his tracks. His brows furrowed slightly and his head cocked to the side at a tilt, after which his eyes rolled up to the top-right corner of his field of vision. A short ”Hmm” escaped his closed lips. In truth, idiosyncratic never did feel like quite enough to describe his siblings. A short list of faces and people ran through his mind to make certain that this girl hadn't stumbled upon an actual quirk of Zeus children he himself hadn't realised.

”Not according to what I remember.” - he finally answered after a beat or two of silence in a room no doubt filled with awkwardness. Whether Maddie had done it on purpose or not, the truth was things would be oh-so-sweeter if neither of them acknowledged the naked blonde just yet. Especially considering she seemed to be edging closer towards striking a pose that said something along the lines of 'Don't ignore me!'. ”But then I have been away a while..." - he added, just reticently enough to have the poor Daphne believe he was had said his piece, before continuing: "That was a very good question, little one. I have to say I'm surprised. What's your name?” - Adam would inquire, offering Maddie a flash of his pearly whites, no doubt a gesture of approval.

The growing smile on his lips was halted, lest the sly grin it was no doubt evolving into be seen, something which would likely spell the end of this situation that was much too fun to pass on. After all, what kind of big brother would Adam be if he didn't get a few laughs at his baby sister's expense?

As his name rung out in the air, the Orwellian novel was lowered to his crossed legs, moving it away from sight - clearly, there was no point in trying to read. The fates weren't giving him that, today. After a moments of staring into nothingness to accept this realisation, the man's lips would sketch and he'd release a few silent chuckles, before his blue eyes found this voice's owner. "Harper." - he said, the warm smile still there, the thought of reading now gone for good. "I come bearing gifts." - the demigod remarked, as he set the book aside for good and raised a new beer bottle.

The Husky had clearly been intrigued by the situation and, as such, materialised himself by his owner's side, tail a-wagging. The dog was smart and had long since figured out that women walking Adam's way usually meant he'd get some attention (the dog may or may not have be used as a way to attract women in the two years' worth of travel). "This is Argos." - he explained - "My uncle had told me he wanted to get me a pet. I told him that, with my lifestyle it'd have to know how to pull its own weight, so he got me a sled dog. Hence the size. Harmless, though." Being on the road for two whole years meant being around mostly new people, which meant that he had to answer the same questions over and over and over again. The routine was so deeply ingrained at this point that half the information was now offered up willingly to simply get it out of the way. It helped that it was a fun little quirky thing, as well.

Offering the approaching woman a wink, Brontes would pat the stone bench beside him and comment with the same sharp tongue Harper would no doubt expect from him: "Come. Sit. Drink. Tell me all of the things that I have missed and most likely don't really care about."