Post by Danny Murphy on May 17, 2012 12:59:02 GMT -5
Danny tiredly approached the large Mess Hall for breakfast. He rubbed his eyes in disbelieg still at the building as if it would disappear. The architecture was amazing. It made him feel as if he had time jumped back to Ancient Greece. He shook his head a bit as he walked into the Mess Hall with the Hermes campers and the other unclaimed campers. It didn’t take him long to realize that all the campers were organized and assigned to tables by their godly parentage or blood. He wondered why it had to be like that. Why a child of Apollo or Hermes wouldn’t be allowed to sit and eat with a child of Aphrodite or Hephaestus. It seemed unfair and almost like segregation. What if you had friends of a different parentage and then you couldn’t sit with them? That’s when the question came to him again. The question had only come to him once or twice so far and he didn’t often think about it. But how could he resist the temptation of his own curiosity? Mom . . . who are you he thought to himself as he took a seat at the Hermes table. He calmly looked over the other tables wondering who his mother could be. It was strange. He never before wondered who his mother was. Of course it had passed his mind before once in a while but he had a good life and caring friends and family always. He always had everything he wanted, which wasn’t much to begin with. All he really wanted was a normal, happy life which he had up until a week and a half ago.
Danny was still a bit shaken up by the last week and a half, especially the battle with the Hell Hounds on Half Blood Hill. He wasn’t necessarily shaken up by the Hell Hounds but rather how he almost killed one. It wasn’t who he was. He didn’t have the killing factor. He wasn’t accustomed to the kill or be killed new world he had been thrown into. He didn’t even fully believe it yet. He felt as if he would wake up any minute and go laugh it off with the guys. It was all a lot to take in. This new world of danger, demigods, monsters, and gods. Suddenly in what was a blink of an eye he couldn’t tell real from myth anymore. He didn’t know what to believe. He had lived a normal life all his life only to be told everything he knew. Everything he believed in was a lie. A hoax. That it wasn’t real. He felt as if he was being punked and one of his friends would come out at any moment but it never happened. He didn’t want to be a Demigod. He didn’t want to have powers. All he wanted was to wake up in New Orleans go shoot some pool, go down to the French Quarter, go on his date with Layla, and talk with the guys. Have a good laugh at his latest wild dream. But this was more than another one of his dreams. It was real. If he died, he died. This new world didn’t follow the rules and regulations that he had always learned to follow in life.
Danny wore a black Beatles shirt depicting a black and white depiction of Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Star walking across the intersection of Abbey Road with the words “The Beatles” in big white letters. Danny had always been fond of music, though had no musical talent. His jeans were worn out, faded, and a bit ragged looking though it suited him. His hair was slightly unkempt and bed ragged that morning but in a nonchalant, natural sort of way. His grandfather’s dog tags dangled in front of his shirt from his neck along with his silver necklace with two silver boxing gloves his father had gotten him after he beat the National Junior Gold Glove Competition, better known as the Silver Gloves. Danny had a lean, muscular build of a boxer or a pitcher, subsequently he was both. Danny had left his black leather jacket back at the Hermes cabin in his locked suitcase as it was too hot out for it. Of course the heat was nothing compared to the sweltering heat of New Orleans that he was used to.
New Orleans . . . the name still held the ringing sound of home. It hadn’t been long since he had left on the boxcar but it felt like an eternity since he had been there. He missed New Orleans so much. He missed the clubs, the wild parties, his friends, his family, and everything else he loved about the place, especially the French Quarter and King Cakes and Bourbon Street. The thought he might never walk on Bourbon Street again made him want to just keel over and die. He missed the taste of king cakes as the thought that he might never put them in his mouth again ran across his mind. Danny could almost taste the cinnamon-roll-like cake coated and saturated in delicious icing and covered in the traditional Mardi Gras colors. Just as Danny’s mouth began to water on the inside a bit a large King Cake appeared in front of him. He stared at it with his mouth opened the slightest bit in awe. He didn’t wonder how. He didn’t ask questions. His mouth just turned into a lopsided grin.
WC:921
Danny was still a bit shaken up by the last week and a half, especially the battle with the Hell Hounds on Half Blood Hill. He wasn’t necessarily shaken up by the Hell Hounds but rather how he almost killed one. It wasn’t who he was. He didn’t have the killing factor. He wasn’t accustomed to the kill or be killed new world he had been thrown into. He didn’t even fully believe it yet. He felt as if he would wake up any minute and go laugh it off with the guys. It was all a lot to take in. This new world of danger, demigods, monsters, and gods. Suddenly in what was a blink of an eye he couldn’t tell real from myth anymore. He didn’t know what to believe. He had lived a normal life all his life only to be told everything he knew. Everything he believed in was a lie. A hoax. That it wasn’t real. He felt as if he was being punked and one of his friends would come out at any moment but it never happened. He didn’t want to be a Demigod. He didn’t want to have powers. All he wanted was to wake up in New Orleans go shoot some pool, go down to the French Quarter, go on his date with Layla, and talk with the guys. Have a good laugh at his latest wild dream. But this was more than another one of his dreams. It was real. If he died, he died. This new world didn’t follow the rules and regulations that he had always learned to follow in life.
Danny wore a black Beatles shirt depicting a black and white depiction of Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Star walking across the intersection of Abbey Road with the words “The Beatles” in big white letters. Danny had always been fond of music, though had no musical talent. His jeans were worn out, faded, and a bit ragged looking though it suited him. His hair was slightly unkempt and bed ragged that morning but in a nonchalant, natural sort of way. His grandfather’s dog tags dangled in front of his shirt from his neck along with his silver necklace with two silver boxing gloves his father had gotten him after he beat the National Junior Gold Glove Competition, better known as the Silver Gloves. Danny had a lean, muscular build of a boxer or a pitcher, subsequently he was both. Danny had left his black leather jacket back at the Hermes cabin in his locked suitcase as it was too hot out for it. Of course the heat was nothing compared to the sweltering heat of New Orleans that he was used to.
New Orleans . . . the name still held the ringing sound of home. It hadn’t been long since he had left on the boxcar but it felt like an eternity since he had been there. He missed New Orleans so much. He missed the clubs, the wild parties, his friends, his family, and everything else he loved about the place, especially the French Quarter and King Cakes and Bourbon Street. The thought he might never walk on Bourbon Street again made him want to just keel over and die. He missed the taste of king cakes as the thought that he might never put them in his mouth again ran across his mind. Danny could almost taste the cinnamon-roll-like cake coated and saturated in delicious icing and covered in the traditional Mardi Gras colors. Just as Danny’s mouth began to water on the inside a bit a large King Cake appeared in front of him. He stared at it with his mouth opened the slightest bit in awe. He didn’t wonder how. He didn’t ask questions. His mouth just turned into a lopsided grin.
WC:921
