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

What, this old thing? [She tosses her curled hair behind her shoulder.] I just pulled it out of storage and had it dusted off.

You do realize that sunglasses at night is probably the douchiest thing you can do without wearing Ed Hardy, right?

I think you're mistakin' me for someone who gives a fuck.

[He just raises one eyebrow at her, idly leaning his weight back against the table behind him.]

Wanna dance?

Oh, oops.

[Dave, you try so hard to look cool. It's almost endearing.

At his question, she looks around, before pointing at her chest, then at him.] With you?

No, with Mr. D. Of course with me.

[Epiny that's rude he is cool and you know it.

Sooooo cooooooool.]

I was gonna say, don't think Mr. D's really down with dancing with his favorite delinquent.

[She'd ask though. For shits and giggles. But right now, her date-thing wanted to dance.]

I guess. [She gives him a wink before holding out her hand for him to take to whisk her to the dance floor.]

[He smirks in response, taking her hand and leading her to a clear spot on the dancefloor. Dave was a half-decent dancer, when he wasn't deliberately overdoing it.

He spins her out then back to him, flashing a glance over the tops of his shades.]

At least you're his favourite.

[She follows him, amazed at how easy these heels are to walk in. Sure, she's got a fair number herself, being, y'know, tiny, but these are the easiest. Aphrodite, she has got to hand it to your kids.

She puts her hands in what is supposed to be the proper placement, and lets him lead, following his lead. When he spins her, she smiles, moving back to him, placing a hand on his chest.] Favorite meaning 'I can smell alcohol and pot on you a mile away and I want you to know it'.

Funny definition of favourite.

[He smirks at her, but it's softer than his usual looks. So, she's not such a bad dancer after all. Who knew?]

Not sure it really works.

I've never been one to stick to preconceived definitions. [She catches that smirk, and raises her eyebrows, but says nothing. She'd taken ballet as a child, before everything went to hell, and it gave her a bit of an edge.]

Maybe it doesn't. But it works for my purposes.

[An edge is right. He honestly hadn't expected her to be so graceful.]

Heh. Sounds all kinds of nefarious.

That's me. Criminal Mastermind Eponine Thenardier. [She smiles, moving in a bit closer to him.]

Is that a workin' title?

[He slides his arm around her waist as she moves closer. Smooth, Strider.

So smooth.

Silk would be jealous of how smooth you're being right now.]

[Smooth, and she likes it. She grins up at him.] Something like that. I always strive for more. Princess Criminal Mastermind, for instance.

Ooh, that's aimin' high.

[He dares - yes, dares, there's no other word when you're dealing with Eponine - to move a bit of her hair back over her shoulder.

So smooth.]

You sure you can live up to it?

[Ooh he touched her hair. That's good. Hair touches are good. Touch the hair, Dave. Toooouuuucchhhhh.]

If you don't think that I can, then you really don't know me at all, Strider.

Well...

[He only brushes that one curl back, letting his hand rest on her shoulder afterwards. His fingers tap a light beat against her skin.]

Who we gonna blame for that?

[She pretends to consider this for a bit.] Hmm... I'd say you. Definitely your fault.