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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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

...I won't lie, I thought for a second you meant something else.

[She drops her head, chuckling.] I don't see it as a threat, so I've got no need to cut off your dick.

For now.

...can that "for now" be "never"? I would really like to not die a--never mind.

...a virgin? [She fixes him with a look.]

I didn't say that.

No, you didn't. But it's what you meant.

Maybe I meant eunuch.

[He totally meant virgin]