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]

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.

[cephalopodcounselor]

If you believe that I'm going to fall for that ruse of yours, you're seriously mistaken. Blackmailing me into helping you improve your wits by offering me blackmail material on you is quite the fool's gambit.

[shippingmath]

I'm not blackmailing you into helping, I'm coercing. Wheedling. One might even go as far as to say begging. Here I am offering up my vulnerabilities to you on a silver platter, and you're looking at it as though I fed you my liver covered with barbeque sauce.

[cephalopodcounselor]

Begging has a nice ring to it. As for the platter of your liver covered in barbecue sauce, I'm not sure whether to be more appalled by the inclusion of barbecue sauce or more concerned by the sudden jump to cannibalism.

[shippingmath]

Metaphor, Lalonde. The point being that it would be unpalatable. Unless there's something I don't know about your eating tendencies.

[cephalopodcounselor]

Yes, I got the point quite clearly. I was simply curious about your choice in metaphors. There's no need to worry, I have no intentions of consuming any portion of your body.

[shippingmath]

So now you're questioning whether or not I'm willing to commit cannibalism, is it?

[He lifts his arm up over his head to contemplate it.]

I dunno, I look tough as shit to eat.

[cephalopodcounselor]

"To eat" was probably the most vital portion of that statement. Without that qualifier I'd have no choice but to laugh.

[shippingmath]

You're determined to reduce me to a wreck today, ain't you?