halfbloodhill_logs | (no subject)

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

Gotcha. I like "you-day" better anyway. It's like Rex Manning Day, but better. Even more song and dance.

[She considers the haiku.] I'll take your haiku and raise you a few more lines.

[Eponine thinks back for a moment, before settling:] Theres pavement in my veins,
Your heart beating like the morning trains,
It's a taxi cab romance,
can't last more than one dance,
But I'll always look at the GWB
perched on my fire escape,
Cigarette signals, blending with the landscape
And remember how you felt to me.

How was that? [Terrible, and she knows it. But it got her an a last year in poetry.]

Ooh, Empire Records. Seriously underappreciated movie, I'd say.

[He leans back against the Maserati, listening to Eponine rhyme, nodding his head along to the beat of the music as her poem works its own internal beat against it. Afterwards, he actually claps.]

Not half bad. I'll take it.

You're telling me.

[Its rare, but she'll take the complement.]

Not half bad from the god of poetry? Damn, that's better than the grade I got for it.

Okay, I'll bite. What did your teacher end up giving you?

An A, actually. Mostly I just think he was impressed I did the homework. [She shrugs, wishing she had a cigarette.] I always was pretty decent at poetry, though. Unless it came out sounding like some terrible screamo song. Things about tears of blood, the usual 13-year-old stuff.

[This isn't really something she's told anyone else, come to think of it. Her parents never cared about how she did in school any more, and would laugh her out of the house if they knew she enjoyed poetry.]

So what you're saying is you don't often do your homework.

[He clucks his tongue at the girl, shaking his head.]

Y'know, I'm not Athena or anything, but you really should. You sound like you could succeed if you put your mind to it.

What's your name, sweetheart?

[Ah, yes, scholastic advice from Apollo. But it almost makes sense when he says it.] Nah, I'm street smart, not academically smart. [And she doesn't want to explain that part of the reason her school work suffers is because of her living environment.]

I'm Eponine, [She says with a smile and a tiny bat of her mascaraed lashes.] and you're Apollo.

I don't know. I've found it works both ways, if you apply yourself.

[He doesn't know who's kid this is, but he's pretty sure her godly parent would want to see her succeed, too.]

It's actually 'Lord Apollo', but for somebody as cute as you, I don't think I need to bother with formalities.

Eponine, huh? It's French, but I don't think you are. Your mom just a Romantic at heart or something?

It's more complicated than that. But I'll keep that in mind next semester. [Not really. She was about to start her Sophomore year in high school, when she got back. Another year of hiding behind the lunch room smoking pot and vodka in her Gatorade.]

[She smirks, giving him a subtle once-over.] Why, thank you Lord Apollo. I'd say the same but, there's no formal way to address me.

Yeah. French name of the Roman horse goddess or something, I don't know. My brother always thought it was hilarious that Epona was the name of the horse in Legend of Zelda... Regardless, it's a pretty ironic name. But, yeah. She is. Technically I think I was named for a poem. Les Petit Vieilles, if you know it.

[Who was she kidding. Of course he knew it. God of poetry, remember.]

How about 'Miss' Eponine? I'd say I'm pretty up to date on human culture, and I'm almost certain you're not married.

[He nods, reciting back the first two stanzas poem to her in perfect rolling French.]

One of Baudelaire's finest.

Single in every way, shape, and form. I don't like 'Miss', though. Just Eponine is good for me.

[She nods appreciatively.]

You're good. I'm really impressed. [She steps off of the wall in the booth, moving a few feet closer to him.]