Percy Jackson Son of Hera and Zeus [BEING REWRITTEN]

Dinner in the pavilion

Percy/Nerva POV:

The sun was setting behind the dining pavilion as the campers came up from their cabins. We stood in the shadow of a marble column and watched them file in. Luke was still pretty shaken up, but she promised she'd talk to us later. Then he went off to join his siblings, and other campers residing in Hermes cabin. Luke was the oldest in Hermes cabin, probably the oldest camper. He's nineteen, almost twenty, and you could tell he'd been at camp longer than just about anybody. You could tell that by looking at his camp necklace - one bead for every summer, and Luke had six.

Next came Clarisse, leading the Ares cabin. She had one arm in a sling and a nasty-looking gash on her cheek. but otherwise, her encounter with the bronze bulls didn't seemed to have fazed her. Someone had taped a piece of paper to her back that said, YOU MOO, GIRL! But nobody in her cabin was bothering to tell her about it, so I the thoughtful person I am sent a breeze of wind in her direction causing the paper to go flying around the pavilion.

After the Ares kids came the Hephaestus cabin - six guys led by Charles Beckendorf, a big fifteen-year-old African American kid. He had hands the size of catchers' mitts and a face that was hard and squinty from looking into a blacksmith's forge all day. He was nice enough once you got to know him, Charlie or Chuck or Charles. Most just called him Beckendorf. Rumour was he could make anything. Give him a chunk of metal and he could create a razor-sharp sword or a robotic warrior or a singing birdbath for your grandmother's garden, not that I think grandmother Rhea would like a singing birdbath. Well, the point was he could make whatever you wanted.

The other cabins filled in: Demeter, Apollo, Aphrodite, Dionysus. Naiads came up from the canoe lake. Dryads melted out of the trees. From the meadow came a dozen satyrs, who reminded me of Grover. After the satyrs filed into dinner, then, unusually late, the Athena cabin brought up the rear. Everyone thought that Annabeth was going to lead Athena cabin this year but after she tried to kill me I don't think she would be very welcome here.

The Athena cabin was led by Malcolm Pace. Like every other son of Athena, he had blonde hair and grey eyes that looked like they could pierce into your soul, if I hadn't been taught by their mother they might even intimidate me. He wore an orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt tucked into his tailored shorts. He apologized for the actions of his sister a while ago, I told him it was all cool and it wasn't his fault his sister was a anóito korítsi as his mother would say. 

As soon as the last campers had filed in, I walked over to table two or Hera's table if you want to get technical. As soon as I sat down everyone went deathly silent. I saw everyone looking towards James and Tyson in the middle of the pavilion. "Who invited that?" somebody at the Apollo table murmured.

James glared in the direction of the Apollo table, well more like looked like a kicked puppy but you get my point. From the head table, a familiar drawled, "Well, well, if it isn't Jacob Walters. My millennium is complete."

I silently chuckled at Dion 'forgetting' James name. "James Waters. . . sir." James gritted out.

Dionysus sipped on his Diet Coke. "Yes. Well, as you young people say these days, whatever."

He was wearing his usual leopard-pattern Hawaiian shirt, walking shorts, and tennis shoes with black socks. With his pudgy belly and his blotchy red face, he looked like a Las Vegas tourist who'd stayed up too late in the casinos. Behind him, a nervous-looking satyr was peeling the skins off grapes and handing them to Dionysus one at a time. 

Next to him, where Chiron usually sat or stood you know cause he's a centaur, was someone I'd never personally seen before, but I've seen pictures in the history books on Olympus. He was a pale, horribly thin man in a threadbare orange prisoner's jumpsuit. The number over his pocket read 000I. He had blue shadows under his eyes, dirty fingernails, and badly cut grey hair like his last haircut was done by a drunk satyr blindfolded armed with a weedwhacker. I personally think he deserves worse but who am I to question the gods, other than the fact I grew up close to many of them?