Escape From the Sun [open (: ]

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>The sun had barely passed the horizon, but Nestor Ricci was awake. The dawn cast a fiery glance on everything it touched, including the golden boy. Feeling the prescence of his father in every inch of the light, Nestor had sought shelter in the musky stables that lay near the edge of the campgrounds. He knew that shortly the sons and daughters of Aphrodite would come in there, tending to their pegasi. But he still had a few fragile moments of peace. Nestor ran a hand through his dark brown hair, leaning calmly against the inner wall of the stables. He had chosen this place because it was dark, and because out of all the people he knew, half-bloods and mortals alike, the pegasi were the least judgemental. He enjoyed being places where no one else could find him. He felt a slight thrill when he thought about vanishing, and for him, thrills were hard to come by. Besides, it wasn't as if any of his siblings would miss him. Sure, they were all aware of the pretty boy living in their cabin, and they respected his opinion. But Nestor had never made an effort to become closer to them. He was simply there, and no matter how deeply he could read people's words, he would always just be there.

He didn't fit in. Okay, maybe they didn't know that. Maybe they thought he was just quiet, and apart from that he was just like the rest of them. In some ways he was. He could shoot an arrow and hit a target fifty feet away. He could listen to music and tell the notes. He could heal surface wounds. And while this occasionally made him contemptous of his siblings who still struggled to clasp their bows correctly, he knew that campers from the other cabins didn't care how well they could shoot bows. They could breathe underwater, or summon lightening, or make plants grow. They could ride pegasi - and Nestor, well, when Nestor had tried to get on the back of one, he had failed. Sure, he could ride chariots around. He was known for it. He could win a race, recieve a clap on the back, a hug from a pretty girl - but he couldn't make the same connection with another living creature as well as he could make it with his chariot.

The sun crept closer. Without looking, Nestor could feel it sliding by his heels. He shuffled his feet in closer, uncomfortable in the sun when there was so much darkness to hide in. He often wondered about his aversion to the sun. He wondered why, with a father who was so adept at many things, that he was naturally drawn to the shadows. He wasnt evil, no, he would fight to the death for a cause. He just hadn't figured out what his cause was yet. He could almost hear his father whispering in his ear to find his destiny, but his father's arrogant tone and light nature had marred the words, turning them sour. Just thinking about his father's carefree and conceited nature made Nestor want to hit something - though preferably not a pegasus. He detached himself from the wall before the pull of the shade became too strong and managed to walk over to one of the stalls. A beautiful white pegasus gazed at him serenly, and despite himself, Nestor smiled. He reached over to stroke it when it pulled its head back. Nestor took a step backwards, a little shocked, when he suddenly realized that there were footsteps coming into the stables. A child of Aphrodite? Someone else, like him, who was trying desperately to escape the sun?</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthia maintained a strict set of standards for herself. There were some things she would not do and some things that she would not, under any circumstances, say. She appeared to avoid three-word sentences. They brought nothing but bad consequences to her. They were the type of words that could change people. Those words made people weak and stupid.

I am sorry.
I forgive you.
I’ll help you.
I love you.

If Cynthia ever broke down and said any of those words, she wouldn’t even be Cynthia Wood anymore. No one would love her for being anything but herself, so what was the point?

Besides, Cynthia wasn’t looking for love. She wanted happiness, and she wanted security. No one ever said that love brought happiness. People put up with the lack of happiness because love was blinding, but all it brought was trials and risks. Nowhere Cynthia looked was able to come through for her. The Titans, admittedly, has been a real flop. All Kronos had done was make Cynthia stick her neck out for him. Of course, if it looked like he would definitely win, she would go right on back. ‘Oh, no, I never rejoined the Olympians! They’re stupid. Let’s go kill them.’

She had even converted. Cyn had tried to become a born-again Christian because it sounded like the best answer. Joseph had made it sound so appealing with all that “I found my savior in Christ” and “Christ is the light to drive out the darkness” business. Cynthia had to admit that when faced with overwhelming evidence that another group of deities is alive and well, choosing a new religion doesn’t seem smart or helpful. People had also shamed her into donating money that they didn’t realize came from the collection basket to begin with. Cynthia still didn’t want to give it back.

Cyn pulled her (“borrowed”) white puffer coat tighter. The sun was rising faster and faster now like a boulder tumbling down a mountain. New York mornings were frigid, and the glow of the sun only brought the temperature down several degrees. She ducked inside the stables quickly. The body heat generated by over a dozen pegasi was not to be taken for granted.

There is a certain amount of counselor training that never leaves, even after one has been dismissed from the position for two years. “The stables are closed from ten p.m. t until seven a.m., excepting holidays and specially arranged rides. The horses need to rest. This is not a place for insomniacs. Go find a stress ball or a puppet to talk to.” Cynthia had something even better. She had a puppet with a head drawn onto a stress ball. Its name was Miles (no relation, see the ‘i’?), and it lived in the sock drawer.

“My name’s Cynthia. I don’t think we’ve met. When did you get to camp?” She held out her hand for a shake before fully taking the fifteen-foot gap between them into consideration. She walked towards Nestor, hand outstretched, looking horrifyingly similar to The Grudge trapped inside the coat of a marshmallow.</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>He had his back turned from the doorway as the footsteps and their attached person came into the stables. Nestor turned slowly, hand lingering on the wood of railing. Even though the light was beginning to reach into the darker crevices of the stables, he still had to squint to see who had entered. She was vaguely horror movie monster-ish, with messy brown hair, and a flat chest. Nestor was pretty sure that if he had seen her before, he definately would have recognized her now. As she began to speak, he drew himself up to his full height - which was still significantly shorter than the deranged girl in front of him.

Nestor didn't know it, but his philosophy for life was the same as Cyn's, though maybe a little simpler. His only had three main points: Keep your head down, know your surroundings, and don't get attached. They generally worked pretty well for him. Act modest, analyze everything, and seperate yourself from everything. He knew about the Titans and the kind of stuff they did. He knew that the world he lived in was dangerous. He could remember when he had first realized that he wasn't exactly a normal person. His bus (and creatively destroyed) had been attacked by pretty big sea monster as it had made it's way across a bridge from Rhode Island back to the shore. Then, lo and behold, a satyr had fetched him and had pretty much picked him up and trotted off to camp.

She re-iterated the rules, but he didn't really pay attention. Staring at the wall in front of her, Nestor was surprised when she ungracefully tumbled forwards in order to offer him her hand. He took it, not liking the feeling of being short, but glad that she couldn't see his face as well as others otherwise could. Insomniac. Well, maybe he was. The night was the time that he could seek refuge, and he wanted to take advantage of that. The light was boastful and ridiculous, but the darkness was accepting... maybe like the Titans could be.

"Nestor Ricci," he greeted warmly with a glowing smile. "Son of Apollo. I haven't seen you around here either, so I doubt you're a counsellor, but you sound like one." His cheerful voice carried the lightest hint of an Italian accent.</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthia nodded and grinned. “Being a counselor isn’t something you really grow out of, you know? They program all the rules into your head so that you can give the tours and everything.” Knowing the rules made it much easier to break them in times of desperate anarchy. Cynthia usually avoided admitting how well she knew all the rules of Camp Half-Blood. There was a fine line between an asshole and the Official Anarchist by Camp Half-Blood Statute. If Cynthia knew the rules, she ceased being charming and forgiven for anything she did and just became rude. “I was a counselor about two years ago. Were you here then? But, anyway, I left, and when I got back, Mr. D told me that reinstating me as a counselor was about as smart as replacing Chiron with Kronos. I was a much better counselor than the idiots they replaced me with.” She shrugged her shoulders up and down. “You can’t really blame the Ares cabin for not being smart. I’m not. Anything you may be thinking right now is calumny.” Cynthia raised her eyebrows expectantly. The statement was a hybrid of a joke and an inconvenient truth. If you weren’t positive if you were stupid, you were probably mentally retarded or not actually stupid.

Cyn smiled awkwardly, “I am not a traitor anymore, anyway. I am a traitor to the traitors. They were losing.” Switching because the Titans were losing did not make Cynthia a coward. Official Anarchist by Camp Half-Blood Statute, remember? She could do what she wanted. Cyn also knew better than to try to keep secrets at this camp. How well had that worked last time? A girl had died because Cyn tried to keep her secret, all because Kronos had commanded her to. Cynthia had since learned that eventually everything would come out in a community this tiny.

“Anyway,” Cynthia ran a hand back through her hair. It might have gotten tangled up, but the habit showed up so often that there was a clear pathway of unknotted hair where she routinely ran her fingers. That was the last three years of her life summed up in one mistake. She did not do much with her time. Except, it seems, work conversations into uncomfortable dead ends. You’re very tan for an insomniac, just so you know. It’s probably a son of Apollo thing. Or is this just a one-time thing? Most of your siblings like the sun. It’s sort of your thing, you know? Like most of my siblings like the arena? Stereotypes. Always correct. Cynthia was incredibly adept at making the conversation even more uncomfortable. People normally didn’t like to hear her speculating about their psyche. Instead, Cynthia settled for the classic introduction. “Cynthia Wood. Ares cabin.”</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>Nestor didn't know what he was expecting when the girl in the white marshmallow jacket replied to him, but at the very least he wasn't expecting a long winding speech. He nodded uninterestedly as she spoke for the first bit about having once been a counsellor, but his attention wasn't piqued until she made a comment about being a traitor to the traitors. "By the traitors, you mean..." he trailed off. So he wasn't the only one in this god-damned camp who was only looking out for himself. Being noble didn't get you anywhere. Having a cause wasn't worth shit anymore. "The Titans?" He wasn't inclined to say Kronos' name. She would know what he was getting at. It almost surprised him, finding someone else who thought the same was as he did, and he noted dryly that her unkempt brown hair matched her personality. For all he knew, she was being honest about herself. For all he knew.

He had listened to her little counsellor story without much of a comment, not really interested in the workings of counsellors or of Mr. D. Nestor leaned back against the walls of the stable and pushed his hands into the pockets of his dark grey hoodie, watching Cyn impassively. "I guess I owe you a little bit about myself, huh?" he asked cheerfully. "Told you my name. Uh, I'm, well, I actually came here four years ago, but I've kept my head down, so you've probably never seen me before." It was probably the truth, but it upset Nestor. He had never really cared about the Ares cabin, and it bothered him that he hadn't made note of one of the counsellors. Gah. Stupid, stupid, Nestor. "Came here after my school bus got destroyed. I was pointing and screaming out the window, something about a sea monster, and of course the guy sitting next to me sees a tidal wave and starts yelling about that. I had seen things before, but I was definately pretty confused them. Sea monsters and tidal waves don't exactly resemble each other."

Like her, he ran out of things to say and fell back into a half-awkward silence. After she stated her name, a few things finally clicked in his head. Cynthia Wood. He knew that name. He remembered hearing about it. But he had never assigned a face to it. "So you're a close-combat weapon person then?" he asked slowly to make conversation. Nestor reached inadvertently for the bow on his back before realizing that it was still in his cabin. As he thought of the gift from his father, he noticed the sun rising higher and instinctively pulled his hood over his head in order to conserve a few last moments of darkness. In the day time, he would be Nestor Ricci, modest and pretty son of Apollo. In the dark, he would be himself.</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthia shrugged again. Strangely enough, the smile was becoming more and more genuine as the conversation worked its way towards the Titans. That seemed to happen to her quite often. Cynthia loved to be able to shock people. The Titans were like her t-bomb, since she dropped the f-bomb way too much for any noticeable impact. Nestor wasn’t giving her exactly the reaction she had wanted. He didn’t try to hush up any talk of the Titans or get away from her or vow undying vengeance against the Titans for some stupid thing they did and probably forgot about right afterward. Talking to someone without her horror factor was just well... talking to someone. It was something she was bad at, and it was something she tried to avoid. “Traitors, Titans, they sound like they go together, don’t they? Nice alliteration there.”

She would have told Nestor the whole truth, situations had led Cynthia to avoid the Apollo cabin, but it was so much more painless just to pretend she didn’t pay attention to them. For all Nestor knew, she was being honest about herself. Everyone knew the best way to keep people from prying was to be completely honest about a select few things. “Or maybe you’ve just only been out at night, and I’ve never been around to meet you before?” Despite being horribly pale and having the sociality of Gollum, Cynthia did not like being out late at night and generally avoided it. She couldn’t understand why a son of Apollo would want to be out late, either. Most children of the sun God were not in their element then.

The mist had always messed with children before they were claimed. Teachers didn’t like to hear about mailboxes turning into monsters with big, metal jaws after the age of six. Cynthia hadn’t had that problem. She could barely see through the mist unless she knew that a monster was already there. It led to many situations with her talking to an inanimate tree, trying to find a dryad. “I understand what you’re saying,” Cynthia said slowly. “Sea monsters are tricky ones.” She choked back a laugh. She wasn’t making fun of Nestor in a way that was worse than just failing to take anyone she didn't really know or care about seriously. Things just always seemed that way when people talked to Cyn. It wasn’t on purpose.

“Don’t be a dweeb.” Cynthia almost reached forward to yank his hood back. It was too Jack Travidi for her liking. If he didn’t like the sun, he should be somewhere with curtains. But Cynthia stopped herself just in time. She knew when something she was about to do could be potentially weird or uncomfortable. People generally didn’t like contact with Cyn. “I could go either way,” she blurted. Cyn’s radar for innuendo was as bad as her conversational skills. “Except I don’t, because I like swords more.” Even she should be noticing the double meaning around this point. She thought that the holiness of weapons was taken advantage of when people used them in euphemisms. “You’re Apollo, so you would be an archer, right? No use in an actual fight unless you’re incredibly fast at stringing a bow.”</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>He watched her face carefully. If she wasn’t afraid of the Titans, then there must be more kids here who were like them, who only wanted to survive and have, well, the best reward possible. Somewhere deep within his core, he knew that the Titans were right about a lot of things. They were right that his father didn’t deserve to be a god; that he didn’t deserve to sit on the golden throne and compose shitty poetry. But there was an almost boyish characteristic to Apollo that would have endeared him to Nestor if Nestor had been so annoyingly patronizing. But what he didn’t know was what would happen after the battle. He had never tried to talk to people about the Titans or Kronos, and he still wasn’t exactly comfortable bringing it up, even with Cyn, who had blatantly admitted to being with them for awhile. He leaned forwards slowly. ”What was it like… with them?”

Nestor scoffed and looked to the side. ”Sure,” he replied slowly. ”We can go with that.” It was partially true. When he had first arrived here when he was eleven, he hadn’t been afraid of the sun. He had reveled in it, believing that he was important because of his heritage. That was before he had met the rest of the Apollo cabin – dozens of kids. They had all had the same golden glow, the same bright eyes and so-called “perfect” faces – according to his father, of course. They had been able to string a bow and loose an arrow in the blink of an eye. That was when the truth had set in – he wasn’t anybody. He had spent some time sulking in the dark, refusing to embrace his father. Then the megalomania had begun to grow in him. He had come out in the day and the night, he had pinned a target at fifty feet, and he had raced chariots around a track with the best of his siblings. But he had still avoided people who might have seen through him. Maybe, just maybe, Cyn had trigged that instinct in him.

As she commented on the sea monsters, Nestor realized that there was a still a part of her that didn’t quite respect him, or anyone else, yet – and might never. He shrugged. ”Yeah, I guess they are. But what’s your story?” he asked. When she reached forward, he froze for a moment, before relaxing as she recoiled. ”Dweeb?” he asked with a smile. ”Seriously? Alright.” He pulled his hood back down and ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, smiling sweetly but sarcastically at her. Not that Nestor would have any clue who Jack Travidi was in Cyn had made the comparison, and he probably didn’t want to know if this Travidi was some hood-wearing “dweeb”. He had to choke back a few laughs himself as she went on about fighting skills in a way that was definitely filled with innuendo. He raised his eyebrows. ”You like ‘swords’ more, huh?” He gritted his teeth when she referred to him as Apollo, but for a moment his head was filled with delusions of grandeur. If the Titans won, they would make their followers strong, right? God-like…

”Yeah, I’m an archer,” he replied, his eyebrows still raised. ”Unlike you, I don’t really have a thing for… swords. But I’m far from useful, which you might realize if you took a step out of the arena. Try throwing a sword really far and really fast right on target. You should try me sometime.”</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthia shook her head, a bitter smile twisting its way onto her face. She wasn’t positive how she had let her best joke and threat turn into a serious description of the Titans. This hadn’t happened the last time she brought up Kronos. “The only thing worse than being there was seeing all the other demigods there and being able to think ‘wow. They’re such idiots to buy all the crap that the Titans give them,’ and then to believe it yourself when your turn comes.” She crossed her arms across her chest, “but I don’t think it was a stupid choice. I think it was a smart choice made by a lot of stupid people. I would crawl back to Kronos if I thought he would win.” The Titans feed of demigods’ arrogance, the ones that think they can create an even better world. Cynthia had no reason to be arrogant anymore. What had she ever done that she could be proud of? She was good at things. She was good at killing anyone that threatened her and driving people back. That wasn’t what she was proud of.

She was starting to understand why people didn’t like to talk about the Titans in depth. It felt like something was writhing in her stomach, trying to force its way up her throat. Cynthia didn’t like it. It was an unpleasant feeling. “Seven years old. Hellhound. I didn’t last in the mortal world long enough for people to think I was insane.” Cynthia could speak almost freely about the Titans, but she wanted the Greeks to stay out of her childhood. Anyone who brought theirs up around this camp always found it coming back to haunt them.

The corners of her mouth desperately struggled to turn upwards. “Well, guess who owns a hairbrush,” Cynthia joked weakly. “It looks like you do.” Cynthia had a list of things that were much more urgent than brushing her hair. Most of them involved being in the arena. It wouldn’t even be funny to see how empty and useless her days would be if she got a serious injury or was forced to leave the arena.

Cyn did notice that there was something weird about the way that Nestor pronounced “sword”. Maybe he had an accent or something. Cynthia was pretty sure he was Italian. “I’m sure I could use a bow and arrow very well,” Cynthia huffed. “How should I know? I’ve never tried.” Cyn did not like to have her fighting skills or strength threatened. Much to Cynthia’s chagrin, even Aphrodite children could challenge her strength. “I, personally, think that archery is not environmentally sound because of all the arrows that are wasted. And that is the very true reason why I will not challenge you... in archery. There is absolutely no other reason why I wouldn’t try you and beat you. Except for that.” Cynthia’s claim to fame in swordfighting was her ability to break rules in ways that people wouldn’t even dream of. Cynthia wasn’t talented. Cynthia was really, really creative. And archery hardly left much room for creativity when you were aiming at a target, not a person.</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>Nestor leaned back, completely interested. He was eagerly devouring every word she said, though he was careful not to let it show. ”I’ve never been there,” he admitted. Something felt wrong with talking about the Titans so close to where his father was pulling a golden chariot across the sky. On one hand, Apollo didn’t care for him. On the other, he might just be listening in. ”I’ve thought about it a lot… but I guess like you said, you think the Olympians are gonna win. Anyways, I don’t want to be just another half-blood tied to Kronos’ whipping post. I’ll go when it saves me. Not one moment before.” The megalomania was kicking in again. He was sure that somewhere there was a place and a need for him, somewhere far away from the demigods that played Capture the Flag and worried about their shoes. Not that he didn’t. His shoes had to look scruffy but nice. But for Zeus’ sake, no one needed five pairs.

”The mortal world always pissed me off,” admitted Nestor. ”Dad was such a friggin’…” he trailed off. He wasn’t afraid to drop the f-bomb, but he sometimes went back and forth between the actual word and some minor variation of it. Whatever fit better with what he was saying. ”He claimed me after they puzzled over why I was the sole survivor of some freak tidal wave. Truth is, there was some satyr in the car behind us who figured it out when he came to help and I was screaming about a sea monster.” Okay, so that wasn’t exactly the truth. There had been no satyr. Nestor liked to think he had survived, not because of his dad, but because of himself. Because he was special.

Nestor shrugged, not because he didn’t care, but out of habitude. He had always had a thing against the people who verbally expressed the word ’meh’ and so had taken up shrugging instead. ”I own a flat iron too, for the ends of my hair,” he said, pulling one out forward to show her how it bounced up. ”I just don’t use it much anymore.”

Nestor, who was easily identified as Italian, had always been interested in those people who weren’t just as easily identified. There was something powerful about heritage, more so than just preferring German sausage or Polish sausage (though if it came down to it, he hoped people would prefer Italian sausage, heh heh). But just from looking at Cynthia, he had absolutely no clue. His first instinct that was that she was maybe German, Austrian or Scandinavian (though in that case her hair would be blonder, though in his mind the facial features could fit). Her father probably figured more prominently in her appearance than her mother, which didn’t help him at all. ”Yeah, I’m sure,” he smiled. ”And I’m Chiron in disguise. Totally possible.” Nestor, who by the way wasn’t Chiron in disguise, had never really bothered to swordfight after his first few days here. He hadn’t been good at it, and while he was known for archery, it had pissed him off to no end. ”Here, I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said with a waggle of his brows. ”There’s an easy, magical way to collect arrows. It’s called… walking.”</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthia flexed a hand distractingly. It was like having a lava lamp, watching her knuckles go from pale peach to red to white. And while she was on the subject of interesting colors of hands, did Cynthia actually think the Olympians were going to win? It wasn’t possible against the army Kronos had created. The Olympians were too secure and smug in their own power to recruit as the Titans were. But then again, it was like a fairy tale. People that have everything in their favor can never win. But taking that into consideration, the Olympians hardly had the right to win, either. The demigods would defeat the Titans. The friends to the camp would defeat the Titans. And if they all turned around, the demigods would defeat the Olympians. Pesky things like traditions and restraints couldn’t hold them back like they did the gods. ”I don’t think they’ll win. Don’t go and sign up to Kronos because of my word, though.” She frowned seriously at Nestor. “I wouldn’t even fight if it weren’t for Ares. I would always fight for Ares, even if I were a traitor. That’s more important than the war, right?” Cynthia’s level of hero worship was unparalleled around the camp. ”Anyway, I doubt a word like “save” could describe what Kronos does for you. You certainly last longer than everyone at Camp Half-Blood, though.”

She nodded. Cynthia couldn’t really understand what Nestor was thinking, but she had heard demigods complaining about their divine parent enough to know that very few of them really admired them. Ares was the most cowardly bastard throughout history, but Cynthia didn’t stop wanting to be exactly like him. In fact, she was probably very close to achieving it. She could sympathize, though. “At least Apollo likes to use things like sunbeams and golden arrows to claim his children? The lucky ones just get the glowy things.” Cynthia made an ironic circle around her head like a halo, trying to mime the sigil. Cynthia scrunched her eyebrows together in disgust. ”Ares likes to have his children get hit with a knife and make the blood spell out something. It’s his name most of the time. The unluckier children get scars of nasty words on their arms.” Not that most of Cynthia’s siblings wouldn’t be delighted to have a big “fuck you!” on their biceps. It was like the tattoo of rebels.

”Oh, it’s working. You have such lustrous, luscious hair. Have you considered modeling?” Cynthia smirked. ”I have a friend in the Aphrodite cabin who would love you. He wants to be a hair dresser when he grows up.” Cynthia would have ended up being the female Sweeeney Todd if she ever went into barbering. That was not a bleak fate in the slightest. Cynthia would have nudged at Nestor smarmily or punched him in the arm, but there seemed to be some unspoken agreement between them to touch as little as possible. The handshake had been more of a flop than a Dead Fish handshake. And everyone knew that no one would hire you for jobs if you had a Dead Fish handshake. Cyn was hardly the sort of person who felt bad about a lack of contact.

Cynthia scoffed, desperately trying to keep the facade up. It was like Nestor was giving her the shovel and pointing out where her grave should be dug. “Okay, you know what? I’ll try you at archery if you promise to do all the walking. I don’t have that magical ability just yet. And then,” Cynthia added, feeling the need to help her pride after the imminent defeat if she challenged someone genetically programmed to be able to hit a bullseye from thirty paces away. ”I get to kick your ass at swordfighting afterwards, okay?” As an afterthought, ”I’m sure I’ll be able to- I mean, will kick your ass at archery, too.”</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>Nestor had always enjoyed watching people think. It was just a habit of his as they gave him time to focus in and try to work out their thoughts. He had no mind-reading skill whatsoever, and he would have been surprised if anyone even did, but he had trained himself to work on faces. Everyone thought differently. Their eyes moved differently, they had different facial expressions – a whole bunch of things. It was an art to him, but not one that he was really appreciated for. As Cynthia thought, he let go of his concentration and began to think too. They demigods could hardly present a match for the Olympians. All the gods needed to do was get mad enough, shudder, and then sizzle all the arrogant half-bloods to bits. No one was more powerful than the gods, as stupid as they were, except maybe the Titans. But the Titans didn’t need the demigods, and the demigods wouldn’t last a minute. ”Is there even a point?” he asked scornfully. ”I wouldn’t fight for my dad. I don’t give a shit about him.” If Cynthia was the high point of hero worship, Nestor was the low point – except if he was worshiping himself. ”Anyways, the gods could just fry us all. The best solution is probably just to leave, except you don’t get anything of it – except maybe your life. But the monsters can always find you.”

Vaguely, Nestor wondered about how Cynthia felt about her Dad. Ares would definitely, at least for him, make a much cooler parent than Apollo. Sure, he might be a bully and overly concerned with kicking ass (even if he was sort of a coward sometimes), but at least he didn’t write poetry. Hi Dad, how are you today? Oh, hello, whatever your name is again, I’ve just composed a sonnet praising my gorgeous golden hair. Artemis must be so jealous, eh? Sure, she gets to look pretty, but she doesn’t have the women flocking to her. She must swing that way, right? I mean, if she turns all of the pervy men into animals. You know, I’ve seen my sister naked. Bet you’re jealous, huh? I’ve also seen men naked, but that’s a different story… Nestor shook his head to clear the thought. ”Yeah, a sunbeam. Whoopde-fucking-doo. At least your dad cares enough to fuck with you.” He squinted at her as the light behind her increased. ”Where’s yours? Or did Ares have a little too much fun placing it?”

He smirked back at her. ”Yeah, totally. I guess I would have gone into modelling if I hadn’t ended up here, with my dad being such a handsome Olympian and all. It’s his stupid golden glow that keeps us looking alike, or else I’d look more Italian than Greek.” Nestor frowned. Didn’t everyone in that cabin already love him and other Apollo boys? They were the stereotypically the most handsome and beautiful children who weren’t related to the Aphrodite children. When Cynthia mentioned the gender, he shot her a dark look. ”Uh, I don’t really go for that kind of stuff. However, if you wanted to see me model, you could bring along some of your female friends and I’d be more than happy to oblige.” He wasn’t totally serious, but hey, sometimes he was just another average teenage boy.

He wondered if all the Ares kids were like that, determined to be the best at everything. Then again, it wasn’t too different from what he was trying to be. If Cyn could show him how to sword fight, it would just be one more step on his desperate journey to omnipotence. ”Walking burns calories,” he winked. Nestor had never been concerned with calories, maintaining a nice build, but his mom had cared about losing wait and she had taught him to check the calorie content of everything he ate. ”Sure, though, it’s fine with me. You’re only going to shoot it five feet, so…” he smiled before running a hand through his hair and grinning reluctantly at her next comment. ”Swordfighting? Really? Alright, you’re on… Let me get my magical sunbeam armour though…” he added sarcastically.</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthiawas finding her hand increasingly more interesting. It was suddenly no mystery how babies kept themselves entertained by staring at their fingers. They were marvelous things. Did the Greek gods create human bodies? The Christian God said he did, so maybe it was just a basic god thing, creating joints and whatnot. Zeus would seem so much more impressive if Cynthia could believe he had done something to help human life. ”I would think that’s why everyone fights for the Olympians. None of the other offers look any better.” The Gods must have known that demigods didn’t have anything else to do with their lives when they first starting conceiving up an army (literally) of children.

She raised an eyebrow. ”That certainly makes me feel fortunate to be a daughter of Ares, yeah.” Cynthia wasn’t self-centered enough to miss how awful relationships with the gods were all around Camp Half-Blood, but that didn’t mean she was compassionate enough to care more about other demigods’ issues with their parents rather than her own. The gods were sick. Ares was sick to force his children into fights with no possibility of them winning and expect them to get out of it. The only way he would ever respect Cynthia was if she became just as sick as her father, and Cynthia did try. If she could make Ares take notice of her by joining the Titans or serial killing the rest of her cabin, she would have done it. Cynthia couldn’t deny that it was all her fault if Ares didn’t love her. She felt useless even worrying about it. Children weren’t unique or special to the gods. But Ares was the one person she really wanted to love her and be proud of her. It sometimes scared Cynthia to think about how little she cared for the rest of the demigods at Camp Half-Blood. They were all her competition in the gods’ attention. They were all rivals at this camp. ”You know, I think one of my brothers got castrated by accident during... but that doesn’t matter or relate to me,” she corrected quickly. ”It’s on my stomach. Not the best place to be ripped up, and I’m sure the doctor would have some real questions if I got an appendectomy, but that’s over.” It was a bit like being branded. Cynthia couldn’t see why all the gods didn’t do it to their children. She had to admit it was a pretty brilliant idea.

Technically, Aphrodite children stereotypically would date Ares children. Everyone knew children would date their parent’s boyfriend’s children, at least in the Greek pantheon. But Cynthia seemed to be the only child of Ares who fell into that mold, and it didn’t produce the greatest consequences. ”Oh, that’s fine. You know, he doesn’t really go for boys either. So you two would be perfect!” Her response was only slightly more mature than sticking out her tongue and snickering about a gay joke, but that “slightly” made all the difference. Cynthia decided not to bring up the fact that all of her sisters beat her up and all the other girls around camp were annoying and always got offended when they were stuck in the same gender category as Cynthia. She really only had one female friend in Camp Half-Blood, and if Nestor was the sort of person who put time into considering how attractive he was, he already knew Sable. ”You don’t do private showings?,” she joked uncomfortably. Cynthia wasn’t into groups. Cynthia wasn’t really into most things, but she was quite sure groups were the worst possibility.

Cynthia was proud to say that she had never worried about calories in her life. The only thing that ever stressed her out about her weight was the lack of muscle mass in it and how it would affect her weight class in wrestling. Cynthia’s weight was the only reason Aphrodite girls would ever be jealous of her. ”Something tells me you just took a shot at my archery skills.” Cynthia didn’t know if five feet was good or bad, but she really didn’t think it was considered a lot. Cyn almost laughed, feeling the inexplicable need to choke it back. ”You may want to go get a harp, too, in case you want to play soothing music as a last resort.”</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>He noticed her looking down at her hands and he added that to his checklist of habits for her. It was just one of his things, keeping tabs on people, like a file on them in his mind. Name, cabin, habits, personality, sexual liaisons and the like. Not that he was exactly comfortable asking about her sexual adventures. They weren’t even at the touching stage yet, which was sort of a shame because it was so much easier to gain people’s trust with a friendly pat on the shoulder or a carefully placed hand. ”I guess it sucks to be a demigod then,”he offered. ”Zeus. Kronos. Whatever. It all ends the same way. Stupid fucking pile of ash…” He clenched his fists tightly, looking over her shoulder and at the wall.

He smiled in return. ”Yeah, well, it should. You get to be bad-ass instead of some golden boy. And when I say golden, I don’t mean in some cool arrow shooting way – after all, Apollo’s bow is silver. You give off that look, y’know, like you’re gonna get straight As and join the football team and save some hooker girl from total desolation, and you’re actually dyslexic and moody and all ADHD. When people look at someone badass, they only care about your tattoos. They don’t care about your marks.” He realized he was ranting, nails digging into his palms. Breathing heavily, he uncurled his hands and flexed his fingers tentatively. He wondered what it would take to get Apollo to pay attention to him. Not good marks, since Apollo didn’t care. A good shot with his bow would impress his father, but all of the other kids could do that. Maybe some harp music or some healing or some beautiful ode to Apollo, but Nestor didn’t really care. He didn’t want to impress his father or make Apollo love him. He wanted Apollo to impress him. The last thing that Nestor wanted was to be turned into some gay flower like a Hyacinth (like one of his dad’s homosexual lovers) or a Nestorcinth or whatever. ”What does it say?” he asked curiously. He was sure that he could have flipped her over and taken a look right then, if only by the power of surprise – he didn’t doubt that she could wiggle her way out of anything – if it hadn’t been for their no-touching rule.

Nestor would have liked to have seen some of the Hephaestus children dating the Aphrodite children. He wasn’t disillusioned – he was as externally superficial as anyone – but it would have been nice. Sweet, even. Something that showed that there was a point to being a half-blood. Loving for a person, not for a face or a figure. Not that Nestor wasn’t guilty of that. He was shallow when it came to girls he wanted to place in his bed, but when it came to respect – he hadn’t found it in anyone beautiful (except himself, of course, but Nestor was Nestor and Nestor was arrogant). ”Everyone goes for me,” he winked, though not really meaning it. Apollo might have, if they weren’t related. The thought sent a chill down his spine – a bad chill. He could just imagine Apollo fucking him hard in the – err, Cynthia’s friend playing with his hair. Beatles’ style, Mohawk, long curls and eyelashes – yeah, no. ”Uhm,” he pretended to deliberate over that, crossing his arms and slouching. ”That kind of depends. How much are you paying me? I count sexual favours as money, just saying. Not trying to imply anything, but if you’re poor… anyways. Apart from archery, I’m not much good at anything else. So modelling might just be something to do when I get away from this place.”

He raised his eyebrows. ”Well then, I guess you’re more perceptive than the rest of your cabin. Good job, Cynthia.” He didn’t like using people’s names. It made him uncomfortable, and it always made people feel like you were trying to connect with them – unless, of course, you were just mocking them. That was hopefully the case here. Nestor hadn’t quite decided how he felt yet. ”Yeah, that’d be a good idea. I’ve only known you for maybe half an hour, but I’m pretty sure even with a harp it’d be hard to calm you down.”</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>Cynthia didn’t like having to be the one to defend the gods. That was not the position she normally took up in conversations, and it was proving increasingly difficult with the more proof that came to how awful the gods were. ”But that’s how life is for everyone. All humans die. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”? Demigods – er, we – just think it’s worse when we die because we know why the gods chose us to die. We see ways to stop death everyday, but in the end, we’re not going to.” Cynthia could possibly find a career as a demotivational speaker if her plan to be the next Mary Poppins didn’t work out. She was one of the messed one people who find it comforting to know that there is absolutely nothing they can do to stop death, so why not just taunt it a little bit? That was how Cynthia started swordfighting lessons. ‘Stop being afraid to die. If you get stabbed, there is only a fifty percent chance you will die anyway. You get what lifespan you get, and you don’t get upset.’ Losing her teaching privileges had been another fail of being demoted from counselor status. It hadn’t just been a way to get her father’s attention by showing how good she was by comparison; it had shown her that sometimes being like Cynthia Wood was helpful. She knew how to protect people as well as hurt people, even if protecting always involved hurting someone else. They were not mutually exclusive.

”It’s a good thing when people don’t care about your marks, trust me.” Considering that spelling her name correctly would count for 100 points on the SAT. Cynthia wouldn’t have gone very far in the mortal world like that. ”Everyone gets stereotyped based on appearances here, though. That’s because most of the demigods at this camp are living stereotypes.” The word “tattoo” started knocking down a long string of word-association dominos in Cynthia’s mind, jumping straight to Myles. She grimaced as her stomach churned acidicly, trying to ignore the sensation of something climbing up her throat. ”There was, um,” she coughed, clearing her throat. ”There was a bit of a mix-up originally where Ares must have... accidentally... written something derogatory to women. And those band-aid things that you put on for a week to remove scars either don’t work or don’t work on magical wounds – both are likely.” This story was going to snowball any moment now into something completely different and more obsessive. ”So, I got, you know, that surgery where they take skin from another part and cover something up.” She had to get it done at camp, because Chiron was afraid of the doctors thinking Cynthia was messed up. It was much better to not draw attention to herself and to be a guinea pig to some of Nestor’s siblings. Cynthia’s words sped up, ”... And then I just cut his name on my stomach myself.”

She grinned mockingly. ”I’m sure they do.” Then, because nothing was awkward if people didn’t notice it was awkward, ”I mean, I’m sure he would.” Cynthia nodded, pretending to think over his offer. ”Well, if I need a male model, I’ll know where to go. Until then...” Cynthia gave him a thumbs up weakly. ”I’m on a budget,” she added, in case further explanation was needed.

”That is unfair to the rest of my cabin. I won’t stand for this calumny,” Cynthia wrinkled her nose. It was a sign of a bad sense of humor when you had to do something to show you were joking every time. In normal situations, using the word “calumny” would be tip-off enough. But in Camp Half-Blood, there were Athena children. ”My cabin is very good at figuring out when people are making fun of them, Nestor.” She put obvious emphasis on Nestor’s name. ”Because most people make fun of them all the time. It’s like when a fish is aware that it is in water” Ares was the camp punchline. Except in the actual Ares cabin, where they liked to make fun of the children of Athena or Hephaestus. ”Maybe tranquilizer darts? If you’re a good archer...” Cynthia frowned, realizing what sort of advice she had just given. She could think of several places in camp where tranquilizers would be sold, either as weapons (which was perfectly acceptable) or drugs (which was, according to Mr. D, not). ”Don’t take that seriously.”</sup>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>Nestor fidgeted uncomfortably. On one hand, Cyn was right. Everyone died in the end. Everyone ended up like a pile of ash. But that didn’t mean it was something desirable, and Nestor knew that he was going to do whatever the fuck he could to stay away from getting vaporized or liquidated or electrified or whatever the hell method the Gods decided would be the most amusing that day. ”Still,” he said through gritted teeth. ”I want to choose the way I die. I want to go out on my own terms. I want to-” What, Nestor? asked a little voice with an aggravatingly high pitch. Control your own fate? That was what he intended on doing. But he couldn’t say that, not in front of Cynthia or anyone else. They wouldn’t understand what was driving him. He was better than everyone else – he could do this. It was the megalomania talking. He didn’t know he had it, they didn’t know he had it, but they might not even recognize as something wrong with him. Was it something wrong with him? They said that all the great leaders had it – Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar. People with power. People with presence. Dead people who didn’t control the way that they died.

”My marks were shit,” he said defensively. ”Which is why I envy you and other people who don’t have people breathing down your neck expecting you to produce by your stereotype.” He sighed and shook his head reluctantly, knowing that she was right about everyone here being some sort of stereotype. The chariot racers, the brutal Ares campers, the ingenious Hephaestus campers, the empty-headed Aphrodites, the wise Athena campers… ”Stereotypes come for a reason, though,” he pointed out. Then Nestor fell silent as Cynthia launched into her explanation about how she was claimed. He flinched a little despite himself, wondering how it felt to be embarrassed by your own father. Being ignored was one thing, but being treated like – well, like a whore. Nestor wondered how many of the women that bore Ares’ kids were actually raped instead of, well, wooed. ”Yeah. That sucks balls. Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t be complaining about how Dad decided to claim me… It wasn’t horrible, it wasn’t like… what Ares did to you. It was just, average, I guess. I was staying in the Hermes cabin, and we went for Capture the Flag. I picked up a bow just as a random weapon, turned, shot it. The arrow blazed a bright gold, turned around in its course, and thudded into the Apollo cabin. That was that…”

The conversation began to dry up. More out of habit than anything else, Nestor ran yet another hand through his hair. It was kind of a way that he stalled, something that if he was observing himself, would have put on the checklist of the way that Nestor Ricci thinks. He noticed it getting more and more awkward, and almost began to regret making the sexual assumptions and mocking flirtations – almost. There wasn’t really anything that could faze Nestor. Kronos – naw. Girls – naw. Being unable to continue his conversation, his way to garner information, his link to the people around him – yeah, that kinda fazed him. ”Awesome,” he replied like the dweeb she had mistaken him for. ”Yeah. Thanks. That’d be cool if you ever get off your budget.”

He raised his eyebrows higher than before, even when she had been cracking jokes about preferring swords over whatever weapon represented the fertile parts of women – bows, maybe? Well that worked for Nestor. He preferred “bows”. ”Calumny? Never heard of that word before.” He held his hands up in defence when she began to get on his case about making fun of her cabin. He would have taken a step back but there was a stall wall/barricade/fence thing behind him and he didn’t think that the Pegasus would much appreciate it if he vaulted into its stall. ”If they’re saying you’re all going to end up in prison when you’re older, that’s not making fun. That’s the truth,” he said, before sighing and relenting. ”No, you’re right. Not very many cabins really... appreciate Ares. But that’s hardly their fault.” He grinned wickedly. ”You sure? Not even as a last resort? They may come in handy.”</sub>