Camp Half Blood

[shippingmath]

Welcome, Demigods!

"If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Being a half-blood is dangerous."

[Basically, if you've ever wanted to throw your character into the world of Heroes of Olympus, now you can! Make them a Greek demigod! Make them Roman! Make them a Satyr if you want. Just make it so that they've always been here (If they have, all the better for them.) Post with a few options, or let people respond with their own! Have fun.]

Comments

[shippingmath]

[No real reaction at all, unless an eyebrow raised in return counts on any scale other than the snarky broad horseshit-ometer.]

Oh, you know it. Haven't I told you all my wet dreams about getting down and dirty with the Kraken? I jerk it to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea every damn chance I get.

[cephalopodcounselor]

Thank you for that piece of vivid and enlightening imagery, Strider. You have lifted the veil of ennui from my afternoon. That was almost hot enough that I might even have to break out a fan.

[The entire statement is dripping with sarcasm.]

[shippingmath]

No need to swoon, I'll get you some ice. Or a nice, refreshing dump in the lake.

[He even makes a feint like he's about to grab her, but stops short of actually touching her. Despite evidence to the contrary, he isn't that much of a dick. Besides, she's holding a book. Ruining that would be disrespecting his mom, or something.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

[She doesn't react to the feint. Though had it not been a feint, he'd have been on the receiving end of a nasty hex before he could even make it five steps.]

I hope you have some sal volatile on hand because I'm so far past swooning that I am getting a terrible case of the vapors.

[shippingmath]

[Since the feint gets no reaction, he ends up just taking a seat next to her, instead of leaning over her and the book.]

Damn, you know what? I'm clean out of that shit. People have been getting the vapors left and right, and I ran out. You'll have to rein yourself in, if you can.

[cephalopodcounselor]

[She sighs like she's really put out, though she's not in the slightest.]

It will be a real struggle, but I'm certain I'll manage to reclaim my faculties.

[shippingmath]

Good girl.

[And, because he's still at least a little percentage of a dick, he's going to ruffle her hair. Hopefully she won't hex him to see spiders everywhere for it.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

[Not enough of an offense to warrant instant hexing, but enough to give way to a warning.]

Do that again and I won't hesitate hex you.

[shippingmath]

Don't I get special hair-touching rights? You're cold, Rose.

[Completely unrepentant. But his hand is nowhere near her head.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

There's a rather profound difference between hair touching and messing it up.

[She only then bothers to finger comb her hair back into place.]

[shippingmath]

That so? I'm not convinced.

[Considering that Dirk always spends plenty of time getting his hair into proper anime style, he definitely knows there's a difference. But it's also an invitation for Rose to take a swipe at him.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

I would show you the difference, but I know if I move even one hair out of place, you'll spend an hour fussing over it. As entertaining as that would prove, I have better ways to spend my time than watching teenage boys play with their hair.

[She is not taking the bait, Dirk.]

[shippingmath]

I'm touched by your concern, but there's this thing I can do called dodging.

[cephalopodcounselor]

And there's this thing I can do called magic. Have you heard of it? I could make your hair limper than over-cooked spaghetti.

[shippingmath]

I quake with fear at your power and might.

[Yeah, his hands are nowhere near her hair right now. Or his.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

Good boy.

[A quirk of her lips, somewhere between a smile and a smirk.]

[shippingmath]

There is a good chance I deserved that. Touche, madame.

[cephalopodcounselor]

I have to admit that I hoped the opportunity would present itself. However, I did not expect you to run right into it with feckless abandon.

[shippingmath]

Clearly I just haven't been spending enough time with you.

[cephalopodcounselor]

Are you saying you've gotten rusty in our time apart? That it's caused you to become so easily ensnared by my machinations?

[shippingmath]

That's exactly what I'm saying. Quick, envelop me in the embrace of your occult tentacled horde before it's too late and I can no longer come up with witty repartees.

[He flops back in the grass next to her tree, "dramatically" throwing one arm over his eyes.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

The mere concept of a child of Athena admitting defeat in the department of wits is unconscionable. I'm afraid my horde can do nothing to save you if you're so quick to cry uncle.

[She smirks as she sets her book completely off to the side. This is far more interesting than returning to her book.]

[shippingmath]

Then there's nothing left for me. I've lost all of my gods-given gifts. There's no hope. I'll be the laughingstock of the entire camp, and it's all your fault, Rose. You're cruel beyond measure.

[cephalopodcounselor]

There are still plenty of people here at camp that you could outwit in your sleep, Dirk. However, I'm afraid none of them reside in your cabin.

How am I cruel? It is not my fault that you haven't been practicing your verbal repartee. You have a cabin full of potential silver-tongued sparring partners at your fingertips. I am but one adversary on this vast field of wits spread before you.

[shippingmath]

It's cruel that you've cast me aside like so much offal, without even extending a helping hand. Seriously, think of all the blackmail you could get on my by offering your assistance. All of it, Lalonde. And you'd pass it up so easily.