Calling all Demigods! discussion

Georgiana nodded, smiled, and slung her quiver over her shoulder. "I shouldn't have left my bow here for so long. You never know what trick some Hermes camper might play." she trailed off, fingering the bowstring that glowed softly silver.

Georgiana laughed. "They tried. Apparently my bow was too much for them to handle. I got it from my father, Apollo, you see," she said, tapping the sun on the bottom of the bow, "before I became a Hunter. Then Lady Artemis enchanted it as well. I suppose the camper who tried to tamper with it didn't realize how much nettles can hurt."

"Mm-hmmm." Georgiana said, giggling. "Where to now?" she asked, flipping a piece of hair from her eyes.

((*yawn* G'night, Mia.))

MiaNicole wrote: "Elexis looked at the rack."

((LMAFO I thought it said 'Elexis looked at her rack.'))

((Yeah, that was a bit awkward.))

"Whatever floats your boat," said Georgiana, gesturing back at camp.

((Sure, cabin. ))

Nate walked in, sadly grabbed a bow and a few arrows from the Zeus rack, and shot the target, not missing once.

((Your character can't be at two places at one like that, Nathan.))

((You need to edit your character, Nathan))

Nate walked in, full of happiness. He was so happy, he almost didn't notice the electric sparks running along his arms.
"Whoa, better stop that. Don't want to run out of energy." he thought.
He picked up his bow, aimed, and shot 5 arrows, one at a time. He hit the center twice, slightly above once, and slightly below twice. Then, he took his bow and his arrows, and left for the Zeus Cabin.

Bouncing blonde curls and an innocent hum announced the arrival of little Maren. She skipped through the enterance to the archery range, her bejeweled dagger gripped in her hand. Rubies, emeralds and sapphires cut in geometric shapes glowed with a gentle light, sending sparkled along her hand.

Blue eyes as clear as a river glanced up from her feet- skipping was complicated, you see- and she glanced at Amaranta. Her gaze turned to the daggers, and coral lips parted in awe.

"Wow. You'we aim mutht be weally good," Maren lisped quietly.

Maren met the older girl's gaze hesitantly, a little blush creeping up across her cheeks. She shrugged and plopped herself down on the floor, toying with the dagger.

"I'm not that good..."

She looked down, biting on those coral lips. No was an answer that typically brought the horrid crimson crack to Maren. In fact, speaking in general was never very good.

But being rude was worse. And this wasn't him. "Um... O-okay."

Shaking slightly, the little girl stood up and gripped her dagger tightly. She took aim, glanced between it and her target, and threw. Not quite a bullseye, but close.

Hand released quickly, and Maren took a step back from the one with the weapon. She gently twirled a single blonde curl around her stubby little index finger.

"About a yeaw."

A small smile toyed around her lips, and Maren took the dagger back. "Thankth. You'we weally good too."

The grin pasted across her coral lips widened, and a little giggle like the babbling brook escaped Maren's lips. "Weally?"

Praise was not common for the little girl, and so being told she was good at anything brought a smile to her face and happy thoughts to her mind.

Another giggle escaped her lips, and a magenta as deep as the setting sun coloured her lips. "I'm thickth."

A few moments of silence passed. The young girl fingered the rubies on her hilt, seeming as if she was touching each in a special pattern. It isn't anyone's place to question the mind of a six-year-old.

"I'm Marrrrrrrrren," she murmured, struggling over the 'r' and holding out a shaky hand.

"Pothiedon," she murmured, returning her hand to her lap. She sat cross-legged- or, as she knew, criss-cross applesauce- and had her hands 'in the basket'.

"How long have you been hewe?"

River rocks widened, a gentle light appearing in her blue gaze. "Only a week? Wow."

Memory travelled back to her own first arrival. She didn't have anything drastic to lead her here. Entirely normal.

A lifestyle unusual to Maren. She had grown up pampered, having everything done for her. It had been enough of an adjustment to go to camp, but Maren couldn't imagine living alone.

"Wow."

A shrug. "I didn't weally gwow up like that..."

Blue eyes were downcast, blonde curls instinctively falling to hide her face.

Maren smiled slightly. "I guethth..."

She looked up. "So how awe you liking camp tho faw?"

A small smile. So far, she and Amaranata were opposites. Maren had been raised with nothing but rules.

"You get uthed to them," she said quietly. "And not evewyone followth them..."

Mind flew to Him. Shouldn't it be against the rules for him to do what he did? But or course, he was never caught..

Another smile. Her blue gaze travelled to the scar along the girl's arm, but Maren had learned nothing good came from those questions. A gentle hand laid on top of her upper arm, the flaming words dancing across her vision.

"Well, it'th good you won't be alone."

Speak No Lies; No Evil.

A small smile, and Maren looked down. She wasn't the type for rule-breaking, nor the type for anything along those lines.

A shrug, paired with the biting of her bottom lip and the insistent toying of her hands. "It'th jutht that I've leawned not to..."

A small smile crossed Maren's lips. It wasn't often that the young girl met kindred spirits.

She murmured a quiet goodbye, and she returned her gaze to the targets. Put it out of your mind... He's done now.

((I'm gonna like, cry with nostalgia.))

Cabin Ares was out for archery, and Lucas was dragged along to help the youngest of his half-siblings. He was never very interested in archery, or a master bowman, and was sulking at the edge of the campers for a good twenty minutes.

The counselor hit the target wildly out of the bull's-eye, earning a scoffing laugh from his. The girl, short-tempered, challenged him to do better.

Lucas picked up a bow and an arrow lying on the grass, all the while wearing an expression of superiority. His arm went back with the arrow, pulling until the bow nearly snapped from the tension.

It zoomed out, narrowly avoiding the heads of several.

[<333333333333333333 FIRST POST]

Thud.

A shriek tore out from Myra's dismayed lips as she fell out of the tree she'd been sitting in. This would have had a much worse ending had the branch not been merely four feet off the ground; however, the arrow quivering, thickly embedded in the tree, was half a centimeter away from her chestnut-coloured head.

Fuming, the Hebean stalked out of the forest and entered the archery range. Ares' kids out for practice. Of course.

"Who," she demanded, shaking with the near-death experience and shocked anger, glaring at the assembled campers (most of which were laughing gleefully) with furious blue eyes, "was daft enough to try shooting this into my head?"

Lucas had been half-hoping to blend in with his laughing crowd, but they all turned to look back at him, their laughter subsiding and mouths curling into expectant grins. Traitors.

"That was me," he said casually in response to the furious girl. He did not look at her, but instead at his siblings, surveying them through nonchalant eyes. Then, brow lifted, Lucas proceeded to look at her.

Not bad.

"Oh, okay."

Myra stalked forwards, her bare feet thudding on the grass as she thrust the arrow back at who she recognized to be the junior counselor - Lucas Cromwell. If she had a nickel for every time she heard his name longingly whispered by a demigod girl ...

"So tell me," she said with her cerulean eyes burning through his oddly coloured ones, "are you a homicidal freak or just the worst shot the camp's ever seen?"

Through the crowd astonished laughter rippled out - "Ooooooh"s crowned Myra's temporary moment of redemption.

Lucas was not amused. His eyes were slits, fixed on his target. He took a step forward, standing up straight and to his full, intimidating height. Then he slouched back, as if he was going to call for a truce.

"Y'know, I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth." Or not.

The Ares cabin crowed with laughter, waiting for the other to reply. Clearly this was much better than shooting arrows around for an hour.

"Sociopathic homicidal freak it is," Myra pronounced, pretending as though the intimidating air hadn't frightened her. (It had.) But the anger and shock of almost being killed was a little too much to bear, and she prodded a finger into Lucas' admittedly taut chest.

"I'd offer to get you a dictionary so you could fully appreciate my diagnosis, but I generally don't help chauvinists out," she fired back. This was met with blank stares from their audience. Of course no one would understand what she was talking about.

"Is that like, maybe another language?" a burly guy muttered to his companion, who scratched his head, nonplussed, with an arrow.

Lucas expression did not change one bit, and he regarded the girl as if she was an pesky gnat buzzing about him. And she might as well have been, because he barely understood what she was saying.

"If I throw a stick, will you leave?"

This earned wide-eyed looks from the crowd around them, who's attention never left the two.

Lucas was getting more bored than truly angry, unlike his opponent. She was so mad it looked like her form would spontaneously combust at any moment.

[MORE DOG JOKES YES.]

"Depends," Myra said evenly, fluttering her eyes to the heavens in mock consideration. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the bumps of her scars with one finger and tapping the other against smoother skin.

"But you probably shouldn't, what with your aim and all." Nodding her head with her eyes wide open in a baby blue innocence, her mouth pouted, she looked like she was denying a small child a treat. She wouldn't leave without an apology.

((XD))

All this back and forth was getting increasingly boring. The crowd was starting to trickle away, into their archery groups. Lucas wished he was one of them. This girl was more trouble than she was worth.

"If I'd wanted a b/tch I would have gone to the shelter." He uttered the word with the aggression of an angry hellhound, a low growl so intimidating that would have made Ares proud.

Sometimes Myra forgot where exactly she stood in these kinds of things, and this was one of those times. The aggression in his voice was clear to have come straight from the god of war himself, and Myra nearly flinched. Her eyes flickered shut instinctively but true to her stubborn word she recovered.

"And if I wanted a maniac I would have gone to the local asylum."

At such a biting exchange, Lucas' cabinmates couldn't have helped but turn around, their eyes wide with shock. No one talked to Lucas that way. No one. Was she a newbie or just an idiot?

Myra's freezing gaze begged to differ.

"There's a hole in the ladder / A fence we can climb / Mad as a hatter, you're thin as a dime / Go out to the meadow / The hills are a-green / Sing me a rainbow / Steal me a dream ... "

She seemed quite the innocent girl, chestnut hair gathered in a tousled side braid and held by a ribbon, singing the melancholic tune absentmindedly, gliding forwards through the archery range. This vision of serenity was interrupted by the gleam of deadly silver metal shining on the tip of her arrow from the light cast by the afternoon sun.

Expertly, as a person who was confident in their abilities, Myra drew her bow and arrow and aimed it at the target.

Twang.

The force from the arrow shooting off was so huge Myra promptly stumbled back and fell; placing a hand on her throbbing rump, she winced. "May the gods curse the Apollo cabin," she muttered, glaring at the arrow quivering in its extremely off-center position. Cursed by those golden boys and girls was certainly no picnic.

[Ther, you've gotten PRO. Congrats.
When I say jumpsuit I mean something like this - http://wholesale7.net/images/201104/g...]

Plump pink lip raised in a scowl, Myra pushed herself off of the ground herself, dusting the dirt off her behind and snatching her bow from the ground. With a hand reached over her back to adjust her quiver, filled with the vivid, blue feather-tipped arrows, her dazzling gaze caught the boy's in a rather peeved manner.

"I beat one of the Apollo kids in an archery competition," she huffed, her accent lightly sweetening the otherwise annoyed words, "and as a result I got cursed. It's ridiculous."

She peeked out from beneath the tousled strands of her hair. She'd seen this boy around camp before. Tall, blonde, cockily good-looking.

[I'll post when I get back - have to go downtown. Sorry D:]

"Completely," Myra agreed, hooking her hand under the strap of her quiver and shrugging it off. "And I have no idea it's going to last."

Sighing, she sat down, flicking out a whittling knife, and started on improving the sharpness of the arrowheads. As if that'll help my aim, she thought to herself, forehead crinkling in a frown.

After a moment or two, she glanced up, eyes looking over the tall blond Brit. Not many of those at camp. "Do I know you?" she asked quizzically, head tilted to her right side, hands paused above the flint of her arrows.

"Myra DeJeunesse, daughter of Hebe. I'm the junior counsellor," she explained, watching as a thin trail of flint floated down from a newly sharpened arrowhead. Or you might know me from Lucas, she mused; she wouldn't be surprised. Her popularity at camp had skyrocketed last year because of it.

"I would have pegged you for one of the kids who cursed me," she admitted, arching a glossy eyebrow at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy. Certainly a misleading disappearance.

Andrew seemed to be the strangest son of Apollo there ever was. For first thing, he had been a professional thief of the gods besides Hermes. Second, he was a failure in relationships. The thing with Myra had been crazy enough. To top it off, he rarely used his bow.

But today he left his dagger back at the cabin after a rude comment from some Deimos kid claiming it looked like a sacrificial dagger. Considering his nightmares, he did not want it to look like that.

Fwoop. At least his aim was great. He pushed back his curly blond hair back and smiled in satisfaction.

After her race with Will, Gillian had taken an extra long shower and lathered with the soap that the camp provided until every pore felt clean and flowery fresh. The hot water had soothed her aching muscles, and after a nap she was ready to start training for another round of racing with her Phobos friend.

"Nice shot."

Gillian saw the arrow fly straight and true toward the target. Her archery skills were mediocre at best, since she'd never quite focused on it.

The boy looked slightly familiar; she'd probably seen him around camp. "Apollo, right?"

Andrew turned around to see who had addressed him and recognized the girl from several Capture-the-Flag games as part of the Nike cabin. He nodded in answer. "And you're from Nike?"

He notched another arrow and pointed, feeling the string groan at his pull. Refusing to let it win, he let it go and the arrow flew towards the center of the target, yet burying itself around the middle. "Lousy," he mumbled to himself.

"Yeah." Gillian recalled seeing him with a twin, or where they triplets? Yes, now she remembered them.

She rifled through a barrel of bows, picking through them to find one that fit her decently. Strapping a quiver to her back, Gillian positioned herself next to the Apollo boy.

"I'm Gillian, by the way."

"Andrew," he answered, offering his hand politely after taking his bow with his right hand and slinging it over his shoulder.. "You might've confused me as one of my brothers, Arthur and Anthony."

Gillian. Name did seem familiar.

She took his hand and shook it, adding in a joking tone, "So, any tips on how to tell you all apart?" Though it was friendly banter, it would be helpful. Gillian could easily imagine going to say hello to Andrew, but getting an annoyed Arthur or Anthony.