Post by Heather Landon on May 11, 2012 7:37:34 GMT -5
If Heather really hated anything (which she certainly did), then she unquestionably hated the after-dinner campfire sing along. Why? Well, for one thing, it was loud. Don’t get me wrong--she could deal with it easily and didn’t mind the noise itself--it was just the stupid songs themselves. Kicked to Tartarus, When the Gods Eat Brunch, and It Never Rains but Dews were some examples. But the all-time low, her least favorite? Love Goddess.
And of course, Tuesday evening, that just had to be the ‘song of the day’ and just had to be sung over… and over… and over again. No sane human being could have endured those fifteen torturous minutes, and Heather had no intention of doing so.
“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to no one in particular, starting her journey of slipping between the seats to safety and freedom… but got about two rows down before people started staring at her, noticing her. Her first thought was: “oh, darn.” Because she never got noticed unless she was in trouble, and the last thing she wanted to do at that point was attract attention. For the gods’ sake! Was there some sort of rule that you have to be driven out of your mind by a dumb song before you can stand up?
With the sort of system the camp ran by, there probably was. “What?” she asked, a little too loudly--for some undefined reason, Heather had a twinge of apprehension. Several people close by her had scooted back several yards, and one of them pointed wordlessly to her hands.
Oh. My. Gods.
Either she was dreaming--actually a pretty likely solution--or she was really truly holding the singularly most amazing sword she had seen in her life, and a wicked-looking whip. Oh yes, and they were both stuck to her hands. Bright, fiery blue weapons stuck to either hand… why?
Something clicked in her mind, and then Heather nearly spat. A sword and a lash… the symbols of Nemesis’ bad side… her mother… claiming her… after fourteen years, showing the next step of minor interest to her daughter. What a parent.
Gradually growing angrier, the half-blood swung the sword and tried to break it against a large rock nearby. Clang! Sparks flew as the sword bounced off the surface, unharmed, but leaving a large scar on the stone. It was a good sword, no doubt… but if it was from her “mother,” Heather was determined to hate it.
Suddenly a kindly hand restrained her growingly panicked actions and a voice somewhere above her head calmly said, “Hail, Heather Landon, daughter of Nemesis, bringer of justice.”
With resentful eyes, the demigod twisted to stare defiantly at Chiron, and then aimed a growl at the rest of the campers in the vicinity. She’d wanted a sword, yes, but she hadn’t wanted to get it like this!
Words: 481
Muse: Good
Notes: Open to all!
And of course, Tuesday evening, that just had to be the ‘song of the day’ and just had to be sung over… and over… and over again. No sane human being could have endured those fifteen torturous minutes, and Heather had no intention of doing so.
“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to no one in particular, starting her journey of slipping between the seats to safety and freedom… but got about two rows down before people started staring at her, noticing her. Her first thought was: “oh, darn.” Because she never got noticed unless she was in trouble, and the last thing she wanted to do at that point was attract attention. For the gods’ sake! Was there some sort of rule that you have to be driven out of your mind by a dumb song before you can stand up?
With the sort of system the camp ran by, there probably was. “What?” she asked, a little too loudly--for some undefined reason, Heather had a twinge of apprehension. Several people close by her had scooted back several yards, and one of them pointed wordlessly to her hands.
Oh. My. Gods.
Either she was dreaming--actually a pretty likely solution--or she was really truly holding the singularly most amazing sword she had seen in her life, and a wicked-looking whip. Oh yes, and they were both stuck to her hands. Bright, fiery blue weapons stuck to either hand… why?
Something clicked in her mind, and then Heather nearly spat. A sword and a lash… the symbols of Nemesis’ bad side… her mother… claiming her… after fourteen years, showing the next step of minor interest to her daughter. What a parent.
Gradually growing angrier, the half-blood swung the sword and tried to break it against a large rock nearby. Clang! Sparks flew as the sword bounced off the surface, unharmed, but leaving a large scar on the stone. It was a good sword, no doubt… but if it was from her “mother,” Heather was determined to hate it.
Suddenly a kindly hand restrained her growingly panicked actions and a voice somewhere above her head calmly said, “Hail, Heather Landon, daughter of Nemesis, bringer of justice.”
With resentful eyes, the demigod twisted to stare defiantly at Chiron, and then aimed a growl at the rest of the campers in the vicinity. She’d wanted a sword, yes, but she hadn’t wanted to get it like this!
Words: 481
Muse: Good
Notes: Open to all!
