Escape From the Sun [open (: ]

[Cynthia Wood]

<sub>”I think I would honestly prefer to have the gods kill me. At least there’s something to be said about that. I was so powerful that no mortal could kill me only a god. I can’t think of anything worse than dying in a hospital.” Hospitals were where desperate people go who weren’t able to keep themselves alive and wanted someone else to do it for them. At least if Cynthia was killed by her father, it meant she was something to him. Being a threat would achieve all of her goals in life. ”It’s not hard to die on your own terms,” Cynthia grinned humorlessly. There was something incredibly jack-o-lantern-like about her smile. She had all of her teeth, and she didn’t have an incredibly orange fake tan, but it was like Cynthia had a light in her that was created just to cast shadows. ”The only difficulty is deciding when you get to die on your own terms.”

Cynthia rubbed the side of her neck. ”Ares hasn’t done anything unique to me. I don’t see why I should care when all of my other siblings had the same thing happen – if not worse.” Cynthia was very proud of being a hypocrite, but she wasn’t proud of being self-centered. She could be mad that Ares treated her like shit with the rest of her cabin, but she couldn’t be sad that Ares treated her like shit. There was such a difference that Cynthia didn’t even think those two thoughts should be joined by parallel structure. ”I feel like if my reputation was good, people would be more forgiving. It’s certainly harder to find faults when you aren’t looking for them. Whereas if everyone expects you to be a violent retard, they’ll find ways to make you seem like a violent retard. I just think it’s funny that everyone gets stereotyped by everyone else.” Cynthia smiled, ”At least your father doesn’t create any rivalry that you have to keep up. I mean, he has the sister, but she doesn’t have kids; she just has the hunters. I prefer to be able to pick my own enemies. I’m really tight with the Athena cabin.”

Cyn was more than used to having a conversation die on her. She wasn’t used to having people stick around her long enough to run them into the ground, but getting acquainted with someone was always a different deal entirely. Cynthia didn’t expect that she would be having a lengthy conversation with Nestor again. It was always weirder talking to people who knew you, and this introduction had stirred up a lot more about Cynthia than she wanted coming back at her. Luckily, when you have the ability to balance several conversations at the same time, it’s possible to fluidly continue on with a different topic.

She snorted, the closest thing to a laugh she could manage. ”I resent that remark. I was hoping I would be the kind of criminal that never gets caught. You know, like Macavity?” Cynthia literally bit down on her tongue. Musical theater was not the entertainment of champions. ”And, by Macavity, I mean the wrestler. The one that... paints whiskers on his face. In blood. And, he starts of every match by meowing.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She probably didn’t need to cover the reference up when most teenage boys (aside from ones in the Aphrodite cabin) didn’t watch musicals in their spare time. Then again, his father was the god of music. Cynthia wasn’t taking chances. ”I think Ares should be taken more seriously. He’s just as good as Athena when it comes to warfare, if not better, because Athena is all tactics. She can’t fight. She’s a girl.” One sign of being in a bad environment is when a female swordfighting instructor doesn’t believe other females would know how to fight. "There will be no drugs in the arena. I will body search you if I have to." Everyone knew the best last resort was to bite, kick, or run away. Tranquilizers had no place in Cynthia's idea of fair fighting.</sub>

[Nestor Ricci]

<sub>Nestor looked up. She did have a point. He would die to have that kind of power, where no mortal could touch him and even the gods couldn’t do much but stall him – and lock him up in Tartarus, which seemed a much more unpleasant place to end up than a hospital and definitely a lot more aggravating and boring than pile of ash. But with that power, he might as well stay on the good side of the Olympians. ”I can,” he said grimly, but he didn’t elaborate. ”Yeah, well, a knife in the throat or hurling yourself off a cliff might do the trick. But I want to die standing up for something. Myself or a cause.” He didn’t have a cause yet, and he felt the inexplicable urge to suddenly possess one. Causes gave a reason to die and martyrdom gave him power.

Nestor sighed. ”It’s the same for everybody, no matter who your parent is.”” But I should be better! his mind screamed, rattling around in his head like a lion on crack. I should be recognized. I deserve it. Not my siblings, or even your stupid Ares cabin. Still, even if it was uniform treatment of all of the Ares kids, it didn’t make it any better. ”Just ‘cause he’s done it to more people than you doesn’t make it right,” pointed out Nestor. ”Well yeah, but still. If people expect good things of you, it’s easier to disappoint them then if you’re a violent retard. But whatever. I guess you’re just screwed both ways. I mean, no matter what, you’re a retard in the mortal world. Dyslexia, ADHD, missing a parent – unless you have some fucked up domineering step parent. Anyways, I find that the hunters can be pretty annoying and, well, rival-y at times. They shoot arrows too, and they’re pretty… confident… in their skills.”

Surprisingly, or maybe not if you took a look at who his father was, Nestor picked up on her reference to Andrew Lloyd Webber. It was weird – he wasn’t a big fan of music, couldn’t really stand it, but there was something in his body that pulled him towards it. It was sort of like Poseidon’s children and water, except… with music. The line was a little thin, since music wasn’t tangible. But when he surrounded himself in the sound of it, no matter how bad he thought Beethoven was, his strength began to build up. ”Yeah,” said Nestor. ”The wrestler. Totally. I know exactly who you’re talking about. Is he the one that hums as he does it too? Macavity’s a mystery cat. He’s very tall and thin. You’d know him if you saw him, ‘cause his eyes are sunken in. That guy?” He chuckled lightly and rested his elbows on the stall wall. ”Maybe you’re right and we should all give Mr. Burly a break. So girls can’t fight, huh?” He found that slightly odd that she was insulting her own sex, but whatever. ”Fine. I’ll think of something else to subdue you with.”.</sub>

[Cynthia Wood]

<sup>”There’s no reason to die for a cause.” That was the whole point of a cause, of course. No one ever made history books who fought their whole life for a cause until one day a ram accidentally pushed them off a cliff (unless, of course, it was as an anecdote about the guy who got pushed off a cliff by a ram). The reason people had a cause was so that they could have a cause of death that would impress everyone. It wasn’t until after you died that you realized it was no use being impressive and dead. Cynthia would infinitely prefer to be alive and ordinary. ” You only have one life, but there are a million causes. I don’t see the point of wasting it on someone else’s idea.” For herself, Cynthia could understand. She would gladly die for herself, because if she didn’t, she would probably end up dead anyway. That was entirely different than a cause. ”Personally, I find the best option not to die. That isn’t very likely, is it?” Cynthia didn’t like denouncing her plans in front of Nestor, but to admit that she really believed Kronos’s promises would be worse. Hadn’t she only made fun of the demigods who thought He would make them immortal ten minutes ago?

Cynthia flexed her hand again, the knuckles turning white. ”It may not make it right, but at least it makes it equal.” Cynthia chose fights without reason or hesitation, unless it was with her father. Ares hadn’t given Cynthia any reason to doubt him. If Cynthia thought that what he did was wrong, that just meant that Ares knew more than Cynthia and could see further than immediate consequences. It was what got Cynthia through life. Ares would always be right, and she could either agree with him or be wrong. It didn’t matter either way. ”If the gods didn’t treat us all uniformly, there would be more problems. There’s no way you’ll be special in their eyes.” Cynthia said this more for her own benefit than Nestor’s. ”We’re at this camp to help them, and once we’re too old to be useful anymore, we have to figure out something to do in the mortal world without any education at all.” Cynthia’s plan was to be the next Mary Poppins. If that failed (likely), she could always join the mafia. A realistic view of her future was always helpful. ”Of course they’re confident. They’re the best archers in the wor- ... oh. Well. I’m sure you’re good, too, champ.” Whether it was actually an accident or just an insult, Cynthia had no response.

Cynthia laughed. It was an honest-to-gods laugh that didn’t originate from someone getting beaten up. ”You have a fantastic voice,” Cynthia smiled shyly, feigning bashfulness. ”Even if you’re not the best at archery, you always have that to fall back on.” Cynthia decided not to correct the usage of “hum” when it really should be “sing”. She was not a definition-stickler. Ares, not Athena. ”Alright. Maybe girls can fight. But Athena can’t.” Her kids didn’t do anything but create an official institution for all the dorks and dweebs at Camp Half-Blood, whereas Ares was in charge of protection. That meant not only were they strong, they were trustworthy. Nobody saw that one coming. ”And I don’t think you’ll be able to,” Cynthia grinned archly. ”But give it your best.”</sup>