Greek Houses and Sports

Word on the street... The city of Hathian didn’t sleep—yesterday, it only sharpened its teeth. Word on the cracked pavement is that a would-be cop strolled into the Independence Day parade with a badge that didn’t belong, only to be unmasked and hauled off after dusting an officer’s face with white powder. Whispers snake down Berthier Street about a captive officer found bleeding at Gein Burger, her rescue as messy as the meat they serve. Meanwhile, after a scuffle gone sour, someone tried bartering stolen dignity with desperation in a futile bid for freedom. And in the shadows, it’s said the Russians might be stirring once more.

Whispers in the bayou... Another sun set behind the penitentiary walls, and the filth of Laveau grew thicker. Whispers spread that someone nearly laced a dinner date with ambrosia, offering a taste of oblivion in exchange for loyalty or leverage. Over at the Den, a regular’s absence started to draw too many questions—some say the missing one didn’t flee, but vanished in plain sight. Meanwhile, a quiet exchange near the hangar left onlookers murmuring about illicit cargo spirited away beneath French curses. All the while, the Syndicate’s scales slid unseen beneath the surface, tightening their grip as folks eyed each other warily, careful not to say too much.

Rumors on campus... Some say Columtreal remembers every secret spilled on its moss-lined walkways, and yesterday, the gossip thickened like fog on the bayou. Shadows flitted between the Rock Hard Boba Shop and the timeworn halls, where the new philosophy lecture spiraled into a heated debate—some claim a faculty member’s veiled threats sent a student running out, pale as moonlight. Nearby, whispers at Papa Pepperoni Pizzeria suggest that a clandestine meeting in the back booth might have been more than a lovers’ quarrel—old money and illicit schemes mingling over cold slices. Even as the campus air shimmered with heat, something colder seemed to settle in, promising fallout yet to come.