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]

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?

[cephalopodcounselor]

You have to let me have my fun if I'm going to help you re-hone your wits.

[shippingmath]

If that's the case, I'll go somewhere else.

[He even almost gets back up.]

[cephalopodcounselor]

[Rose rolls her eyes.]

And who is going to help you instead? You've already informed me that no one else here is a worthy enough adversary for you.

No pain no gain, Strider.

[shippingmath]

I'll go on a quest. To find a proper snark trainer. Chiron is sure to grant my request.

[cephalopodcounselor]

Chiron is as likely to grant your request as Mr D is to be able to drink wine. In other words, you're 50 years too early.