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Who: Everyone at camp.
What: Apollo's sacred day.
Where: The ampitheater.
When: August 7, 8:30 PM.
Why: Apollo's at camp today, and as the god of music, he's holding a dance.

It was decided at the meeting of the summer gods, the Summer Solstice, but it took Apollo physically coming to the Big House and scolding Mr. D for being lazy and not putting up any fliers to actually get the god of wine to do it, a week in advance.

Apollo prides himself on being the god of just about everything - though Mr. D would say, out of the cocky god's earshot, that he's the god of everything nobody else wanted to be the god of. Because of this, he's always had a self-assured attitude which is sometimes hard to deal with.

Because of this, when he decided he was going to throw a dance for the demigods towards the end of the summer as a reward for accepting children of other pantheons into their Greek camp so well, most of the other gods decided to just let him have it rather than argue. (Considering that Hera and Zeus had gotten into three separate spats since the Solstice began, they'd all had enough godly screaming for one meeting.)

So at about 8:30 on the nose - since he's used to following a tight schedule on the sun chariot and he's excited about this, he'll be on time - a flaming, bright red Maserati drives up to the ampitheater. Apollo doesn't even have to lift a finger for the trunk to open, and speakers as well as state of the art DJ equipment rise up onto a platform. He waves his hand, and club music with a thumping bassline starts playing.

(Never say that Apollo doesn't like to make an entrance.)

Requests will be taken all night by Apollo, who will be manning the dj booth as well as making up freestyle haikus. He's one of the more amicable gods, especially to his kids, which he's hosted more of at Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter combined than any other god. He's charming and younger looking than most gods, with a cocky smile and sandy hair.
If you're a pretty girl, he might hit on you.

(Apologies in advance. He'd say old habits die hard because he's right. Sorry, Hunters of Artemis.)

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Well shit. [Even all dolled up, Eponine still has the mouth of a sailor as she sidles up to Jehan.] And to think I had ten bucks on what sort of atrocity you'd wear today. [But she gives him a grin to show that she's just joking. Mostly.]

Well done, Prouvaire, well done.

[He blushes, pleased by the compliment]

It's all Alcuin's doing. I asked him to help me look nice tonight. You look lovely, by the way.

He did well. My complements to your personal stylist. I'd consider investing in one if I were you. [This time, she winks.] Thanks. Tonight I was styled by the fabulous Reynaud de Courfeyrac. I'm pretty sure he made a deal with Hades or something to get me looking like this.

No, he's just that brilliant. And has the patience of a saint. He, ah, he's had quite a lot of practice with me over the years. To the point of giving up.

[He laughs, a little embarrassed]

We just don't have similar styles--though to be fair no one has my style--and he can only take so much floral, I feel.

[She wants another drink. Thank goodness for thigh-holsters created especially for the purpose of holding a flask. But that would also require going near the refreshments, and Mr. D could probably smell alcohol on her.

But she shrugs.] well he hasn't given up yet. Hold on to that one, JP. Though, come to think of it, if you needed to, you could pull a pretty swanky outfit out of your own wardrobe. It may even match. This, [she gestures to her own dress, and heels.] are on loan.

I'm not sure if the suit is mine, though the tie is.

[As if anyone else would own a green tie with hibiscus embroidered on it]

Who are they on loan from? Courf doesn't have a dress.

The tie is obviously yours. I'm surprised you're not wearing a bow-tie. Word on the street is they're cool.

...Come to think of it, no, I'm not surprised.

As far as you know. He's an Aphrodite kid. They've apparently got a full wardrobe department in that cabin or something.

Oh, yes, there's that. I meant that Courfeyrac doesn't actually personally own a dress. I wonder how it all fits in that cabin, though.

Well, Jehan, when you stop and think about it, we're all the kids of gods, so I'd really say anything is possible. Including a huge-ass wardrobe in Aphrodite Cabin.

Other than that, I didn't think to ask. I was too interested in this makeover magic of his. Kid's great with a makeup brush. He managed to make me look, well, not like a teenage prostitute.

You never look like a teenage prostitute!

[He seems genuinely offended by that, offended enough that he ignores the sarcasm before the comment.]

Yes I do. [There's no hint of irony or sarcasm in her words.

She wrinkles her nose.] So, they teach you kids to dance in France? It rhymes, so I figure that's how it is, right?

You do not. And of course they do. Maman signed me up for a a few lessons as a kid before I got bored with it.

Shut up. [There's fire in her words before she reigns it back. Instead, she's going to focus on dancing, and that's the last word.]

I took ballet when I was a kid for a few years. Quit after we left Jersey.

Do you want to dance tonight?

[He can take a hint. He drops the hooker conversation and doesn't ask if she still remembers ballet]

[Good call, Prouvaire. Though he could have asked about ballet.]

I guess? It's a dance, that's kinda what we're supposed to do. And it beats sitting on the sidelines playing wallflower all night.

Just no...I don't know the word, but it is literally the stupidest dance in the world and I refuse to--oh, there. That dance.

[Jehan points to one of the campers twerking]

What is that even?

[SHe blinks.] Twerking.

No. No twerking. Not my style. No Harlem Shaking, either.

Harlem what?

[She waves a hand off vaguely.] Never mind. Now be a dear and ask a lady to dance?

May I have this dance, mademoiselle?

[Jehan smiles and while he's not all charm he's certainly all friendly laughs and even tries to bow!]

[Oh, hey, look at that, Eponine is laughing, too! It's a miracle!

Or it's vodka.

She gives her best curtsy in response.] Oui, you may, monsieur Prouvaire. I would be delighted.

I apologize now if I step on your toes.

[He leads Ep out to the dance floor and starts moving. He's pretty good for a shy, awkward French demigod.]

Relax. I won't cut them off tonight. But just tonight. [She chuckles, taking his hand and letting him lead her before moving in towards him, following his lead. He's awkward, but they're freaking kids. What else do you expect?]

[Less awkward than Enjolras!]

Cut what off?

Your feet. For stepping on my toes.