What the Hell?
POSTED ON Sept 15, 2013 13:19:41 GMT -8
Post by Nicholas Collins on Sept 15, 2013 13:19:41 GMT -8
Nicholas was on an adventure of sorts. There was another camp aside from the Romans and he wanted to explore it. Campers whispered rumors about Camp Jupiter, but not many discussed Camp Isis. His guess was that not many people knew enough about the camp – at least not many outside of the staff and cabin leaders. He had skipped training with Clarisse – she had probably been pissed and started looking for him – and left his siblings a note saying he went shopping. It was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that.
However, he hadn’t calculated just how long it would take him to get to Texas. He had hoped that by taking several buses – he shuddered at the thought of public transportation – he could have gotten to Texas rather quickly. And to most, his trip was considered quick, but it had taken over a day and he wasn’t happy with that. He wondered if this was what a quest felt like. He had fallen asleep on a bus and missed the next one and ended up paying his way on a train.
For the most part, he hadn’t run into many monsters. And those he saw, he completely avoided. He’d brought a dagger with him just in case and hid it under his shirt so not to scare any mortals. Once he got to Texas, he had to hike through the damned hotter than Apollo – ‘cause Apollo was hot, everybody knew that – desert. Why the hell did the camp have to be in the stupid desert?
He stopped right outside of the camp’s magical barrier, pausing to study the hieroglyphics etched onto the stones. Despite being Greek, he had always enjoyed Egyptian hieroglyphics. He found them to be beautiful.
A chill shot up his spine and he got the sensation that he was being watched. He heard a growl come from behind him and cautiously looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he found a sleek jackal standing there, the fur on its back raised and its teeth showing as it continued to growl and snarl at him. “Heh, nice doggy,” he said cautiously, taking a step back.
The jackal darted at him and he turned and ran. The canine whipped out in front of him to block him each time he tried to go through the barrier into the camp. He continued to run, his dagger now gripped in his hand as he tried to out run the jackal. He looked over his shoulder to see if it was still following him, but he didn’t see it. He realized the jackal wasn’t there anymore but before he could stop running, he hit somebody and they both toppled to the ground.
He pushed himself up, on top of whoever he had ran into. He blinked the dust out of his eyes and looked down to see who was underneath him. “You!” he glared down at the Stoll twin. It was either Travis or Connor, he couldn’t tell the difference. The grin that spread across the Stoll’s face sent chills shuddering down his spine. It was dark and terrifying. He honestly hadn’t thought either of the twins was capable of such an expression.
That was when he realized that he no longer held his dagger. The son of Hermes had it in his hand and before he could ask for it back, he swung his free hand and hit the son of Aphrodite square in his jaw. Nicholas rolled off of the Stoll and cradled his jaw. It was the first time he had ever been punched. “What the hell?!” he snapped, wincing as the mere movement of speaking hurt his jaw.
He moved to get up but was shoved back down with a push as the cabin leader straddled him. He moved to snarl some profanities at him, but froze as he felt the edge of his own dagger against the soft skin of his throat. He found that he had never been so scared of anyone in his entire life. Even Clarisse had never held a dagger to his throat with a look in her eyes that told him she was considering slashing through his skin.
“I-If… if this is about the p-perfume, I’m s-sorry,” he stammered out, swallowing hard and feeling the action push his skin against the dagger’s edge ever-so-slightly. The son of Hermes remained quiet, saying all he needed to with his darkening eyes. The seventeen-year-old’s mind was twisting and turning as he tried to think of a solution. He would try to make sense of what was happening later. For now, his goal was to survive and live to ask questions later.
He thanked the gods that he knew how to fight dirty. He brought his leg up and slammed it as hard as he could against the other’s groin. As he watched him wince and pull the dagger away, he curled his fingers into a tight fist and slammed it against the Stoll’s jaw – payback. He gripped his shoulders and shoved him off. Scrambling to his feet, Nicholas caught sight of a set of stone stairs that led down to where the camp was inside the barrier.
“Nicholas!” for a split second, the voice didn’t sound like Connor or Travis’. But that didn’t last as it smoothed into the tone of voice that the twins had. He was used to hearing the voice and it caused him to turn on his heels to look toward the fellow Greek. His heels were right against the edge of the top step and his eyes barely had time to widen as he saw the dagger coming. It flew through the air and pierced his left shoulder. He gasped at the pain and instinctively drew back, the force of the stabbing pushing him back as well. It didn’t felt like a child of Hermes’ threw it – not with the strength it held. His heels slipped off the top step and he fell back. He felt his head hit something hard before he blacked out.
Nicholas awoke on a cot with a wet washrag folded and draped over his forehead. A thin white blanket was laid on him from his waist down. He could feel the fabric of his jeans against his legs, hot in the Texan heat. He blinked his eyes open and looked around. The room looked to be like an infirmary, however he knew he wasn’t at Camp Half-Blood. A panic rose in his throat and he sat up, grimacing and holding his head in his hands at the pain that shot through his skull. He felt as if he had a concussion and considering he had blacked out, he was grateful to be awake, let alone alive.
It took him a moment or two to focus and remember where he was. The washrag had fallen off when he sat up and down rested against the blanket on his lap. He faintly blushed when he realized he wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore. His gaze fell onto his shoulder and he saw the stab wound was stitched up on either side – the dagger having sliced right through from one side to the other. He found his dagger and folded up shirt sitting on a small nightstand by the head of the cot. The dagger had been cleaned but he could see a blood stain on his shirt.
His jaw still felt sore from the punch and his heart was pounding inside his chest. Aside from that, though, he was thankful to be alive and knew he owed his life to whoever had found him.
However, he hadn’t calculated just how long it would take him to get to Texas. He had hoped that by taking several buses – he shuddered at the thought of public transportation – he could have gotten to Texas rather quickly. And to most, his trip was considered quick, but it had taken over a day and he wasn’t happy with that. He wondered if this was what a quest felt like. He had fallen asleep on a bus and missed the next one and ended up paying his way on a train.
For the most part, he hadn’t run into many monsters. And those he saw, he completely avoided. He’d brought a dagger with him just in case and hid it under his shirt so not to scare any mortals. Once he got to Texas, he had to hike through the damned hotter than Apollo – ‘cause Apollo was hot, everybody knew that – desert. Why the hell did the camp have to be in the stupid desert?
He stopped right outside of the camp’s magical barrier, pausing to study the hieroglyphics etched onto the stones. Despite being Greek, he had always enjoyed Egyptian hieroglyphics. He found them to be beautiful.
A chill shot up his spine and he got the sensation that he was being watched. He heard a growl come from behind him and cautiously looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he found a sleek jackal standing there, the fur on its back raised and its teeth showing as it continued to growl and snarl at him. “Heh, nice doggy,” he said cautiously, taking a step back.
The jackal darted at him and he turned and ran. The canine whipped out in front of him to block him each time he tried to go through the barrier into the camp. He continued to run, his dagger now gripped in his hand as he tried to out run the jackal. He looked over his shoulder to see if it was still following him, but he didn’t see it. He realized the jackal wasn’t there anymore but before he could stop running, he hit somebody and they both toppled to the ground.
He pushed himself up, on top of whoever he had ran into. He blinked the dust out of his eyes and looked down to see who was underneath him. “You!” he glared down at the Stoll twin. It was either Travis or Connor, he couldn’t tell the difference. The grin that spread across the Stoll’s face sent chills shuddering down his spine. It was dark and terrifying. He honestly hadn’t thought either of the twins was capable of such an expression.
That was when he realized that he no longer held his dagger. The son of Hermes had it in his hand and before he could ask for it back, he swung his free hand and hit the son of Aphrodite square in his jaw. Nicholas rolled off of the Stoll and cradled his jaw. It was the first time he had ever been punched. “What the hell?!” he snapped, wincing as the mere movement of speaking hurt his jaw.
He moved to get up but was shoved back down with a push as the cabin leader straddled him. He moved to snarl some profanities at him, but froze as he felt the edge of his own dagger against the soft skin of his throat. He found that he had never been so scared of anyone in his entire life. Even Clarisse had never held a dagger to his throat with a look in her eyes that told him she was considering slashing through his skin.
“I-If… if this is about the p-perfume, I’m s-sorry,” he stammered out, swallowing hard and feeling the action push his skin against the dagger’s edge ever-so-slightly. The son of Hermes remained quiet, saying all he needed to with his darkening eyes. The seventeen-year-old’s mind was twisting and turning as he tried to think of a solution. He would try to make sense of what was happening later. For now, his goal was to survive and live to ask questions later.
He thanked the gods that he knew how to fight dirty. He brought his leg up and slammed it as hard as he could against the other’s groin. As he watched him wince and pull the dagger away, he curled his fingers into a tight fist and slammed it against the Stoll’s jaw – payback. He gripped his shoulders and shoved him off. Scrambling to his feet, Nicholas caught sight of a set of stone stairs that led down to where the camp was inside the barrier.
“Nicholas!” for a split second, the voice didn’t sound like Connor or Travis’. But that didn’t last as it smoothed into the tone of voice that the twins had. He was used to hearing the voice and it caused him to turn on his heels to look toward the fellow Greek. His heels were right against the edge of the top step and his eyes barely had time to widen as he saw the dagger coming. It flew through the air and pierced his left shoulder. He gasped at the pain and instinctively drew back, the force of the stabbing pushing him back as well. It didn’t felt like a child of Hermes’ threw it – not with the strength it held. His heels slipped off the top step and he fell back. He felt his head hit something hard before he blacked out.
Nicholas awoke on a cot with a wet washrag folded and draped over his forehead. A thin white blanket was laid on him from his waist down. He could feel the fabric of his jeans against his legs, hot in the Texan heat. He blinked his eyes open and looked around. The room looked to be like an infirmary, however he knew he wasn’t at Camp Half-Blood. A panic rose in his throat and he sat up, grimacing and holding his head in his hands at the pain that shot through his skull. He felt as if he had a concussion and considering he had blacked out, he was grateful to be awake, let alone alive.
It took him a moment or two to focus and remember where he was. The washrag had fallen off when he sat up and down rested against the blanket on his lap. He faintly blushed when he realized he wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore. His gaze fell onto his shoulder and he saw the stab wound was stitched up on either side – the dagger having sliced right through from one side to the other. He found his dagger and folded up shirt sitting on a small nightstand by the head of the cot. The dagger had been cleaned but he could see a blood stain on his shirt.
His jaw still felt sore from the punch and his heart was pounding inside his chest. Aside from that, though, he was thankful to be alive and knew he owed his life to whoever had found him.
WORDS:; 1,275
OUTFIT:; Here
TAGGED:; Egyptians, @darren?
NOTES:; That darn Loki, shape-shifting and hurting my presh Nicky uwu