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"That was... that was just too much, Castor," Atlas said with a low sigh, accepting the napkin and mopping up his face with it. It really had been too much. Castor was too much, he always was, even when he was just known to him as Elzo Xanis. But back then at least his brand of overwhelmingness was mostly devoid of ideas half as crazy as this one. Only the reckless confidence being a sailor senshi could have given him a reason to try and pull off a feat like this.

This was definitely a... situation, if there ever was one. It had started with Atlas's phone ringing for the first time in several weeks, Castor's volume-control-devoid voice barking at him from the other line: Meet me at the roof of our dorm building. Bring some hot dog buns. I forgot to buy some.

And so, dumbfounded, he stopped by a grocery store, headed back out -- and was eventually welcomed by Sailor Castor sporting an enormous feathered buttbow, welcoming him to a weenie roast.

On the roof of one of Hillworth's buildings.

He regarded the sausage skewer with a comical frown, spinning the now-empty tongs with a surprising degree of deftness. There were still a couple chunks of meat clinging to it. Atlas quickly flung them into the bonfire while Castor wasn't looking, lest he get persuaded into licking the skewer clean next. "And you're sure no one's going to notice all this?" he asked, for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.

If the senshi fuku didn't magically clean and repair itself, Atlas didn't want to think about how he'd be looking now. Along with spilling lukewarm coffee, getting flecks of condiments everywhere as he tried to patrol and eat some fast food he'd picked up for it at the same time and mis-stepping in the occasional dirty puddle, he'd now have stains of grease and sausage juice on his gloves and down his shirt. He couldn't imagine what would be worse: how he'd look, or how much Astraea might chew him out if seen like that.

Being forced to swallow sausages whole by Sailor Castor seemed almost pleasant in comparison. He did still balk a bit, however, at the mention of beer.

Castor could probably see the protests written across Atlas's features without him having to say them: but they were minors, drinking is dangerous, they might get in trouble for this, and other such whining. Which once again raised the question as to how and why he'd gotten into Hillworth in the first place, he was better fit for some fancy-a** uptight boy's prep school. "Er," he choked, "I, uh. I think I'll pass on that..."

Atlas remained firm on his choice not to drink -- and then quite possibly damned himself with that decision by reaching for a bag of chips and peeling them open. The act of doing so was surprisingly effortless, and perhaps a perk of being a senshi at the super rank: mundane tasks that normally involved a lot of twisting and struggling could now be done with a small flick of the wrist.

He glanced down at his pants at the mention of them, as if to check whether they were still there (they were), before looking back up at Castor. "Um, I got them on my birthday?" he replied with a bit of a shrug. "My team threw me a surprise party. And... this ended up being part of the surprise, I guess." It wasn't exactly an action-packed story, apparently. Atlas scratched at the back of his head, a weird quirk in the corner of his mouth. "Other than that, it's been... well. The usual."

Besides the fact that he'd spent a disproportionate amount of the summer at the hospital at his friends' bedsides. And no special someone for him, unfortunately.