You might not have seen her around camp, and if you did you probably didn't pay much attention. Who cares about Rachel Venus (no relation to the love goddess), aka "Fat Rachel", aka "By Zeus and Hera it's coming towards us!"? She's just some dorky redhead spilling out of her Evil Dead T-shirt and grey sweat pants. What's so special about a sleazy glutton who's never been on a quest, likes the boys almost as much as Aphrodite's kids, and takes up too much space in the Hermes cabin?

I'll tell you why I don't call her names, even though she says she doesn't mind the teasing. I'll tell you why, if you have the sense the gods gave brain-damaged Cyclopes, you'll never cross her when she's in a bad mood, rare though that may be. I saw her get claimed.

Now, me, you might have seen around camp. I'm Derek Payne, son of Ares, tall, built, with a lot of scars. Alright, that doesn't really narrow it down. It might help to known that I've got wavy dark-brown hair, storm-grey eyes, and that I've got the kind of chiseled face that just looks better with a few scars on it, if I do say so myself. Lots of girls from Aphrodite's cabin (and a few guys from Dionysus's and Hermes's cabin) get distracted when I come in with my clothes all torn, sweaty, and bloodstained from a good workout. I'm a great friend to have at your back and a worse enemy to have facing you. But hey, I'm blathering on like one of those Aphrodite primadonnas. This isn't about me. This is about Rae.

She caught me outside the camp boundaries. I know, I know, "how did she sneak up on you?" Stealth never was my specialty, I'm more of a head on guy. Anyway, she wasn't exactly fat back then, just chubby. The reason we used to call her Fat Rachel was because, any moment she wasn't actively shoveling food into her freckled face, her stomach rumbled like a ticked-off hellhound.

To this day I don't know how she snuck up on me. Whenever I ask about it she just snickers and waggles her eyebrows. One moment, I'm sticking to the shadows of a weed-covered underpass. The next I feel hot breath on my neck and she says, in that lisping, girly voice, "Boo!"

Of course I didn't jump or flinch. I just cursed myself for being a dolt and letting her sneak up on me. I should have heard her stomach growl, but I've noticed these days that when she gets really, really hungry, she hardly makes a noise at all.

"What the tartarus are you doing here?" I snapped. My celestial bronze battleaxe was already out. She didn't flinch when I held it against her face. Say what you will, this girl had balls. (I mean, you know what I mean. Stop laughing.)

"I could ask you the same thing, " she whispered. Some drunken partiers hooted in the distance. A breeze kicked up, carrying the scent of smoke and poppy with it while I tried to think of a smart comeback. She ran her bright green eyes up and down me, sizing me up like a plate of barbeque. I definitely didn't blush.

"Go to the crows, lard-butt" I snarled. Okay, not the wittiest thing, but I always already rearing for a fight. I'd been stupid enough to go out on another dare, stupid enough to get caught, and stupid enough to stand here growling while laughter twinkled in Rachel's fiendish green eyes. She flipped back her hair and rubbed her stomach, like "lard-butt" was a compliment.

"You lost another bet, didn't you?" Rachel said. Her smile widened as I drew breath to argue. "No, let me guess, this is a dare, right? You have to bring back something from a store to prove you ventured into mortal civilization."

"Maybe," I grumbled. One of the few downsides to being a son of Ares; it's hard to back down from a dare, no matter how stupid. Nobody in my cabin wants to back down or lose face, and that leads to a lot of…less-than-ideal decisions.

But just because I'm built and handsome, don't think I'm a clueless meathead. A good warrior knows when to negotiate, and I'd been outmaneuvered.

"What's the price for your silence?" I said, lowering my weapon a little.

"Straight to the point," she said, with a warm smile. "How about dinner and a movie?"

"Fat chance, " I said. I couldn't' help it, she'd left herself wide open. She burst into a laughter a split-second after I did. Our laughter sounded funny, kinda distant, but I thought it was just the echoes of the underpass. A big slow truck rumbled by us, it's transmission as rough as a giant's breathing.

"Seriously, I just want five tubs of ice cream," she said. Her stomach growled. "And two bottles of chocolate syrup."

I lifted my axe again. "Two tubs, no syrup."

She narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth. "Five tubs, two bottles of syrup."

This girl wasn't backing down easy, but I knew here weak spot. You might think every girl's favorite brand of ice cream was Ben and Jerry. However, an experienced warrior on the battlefield of love knows deeper secrets. I lowered my axe and took in a breath of poppy-scented air.

"One bottle of syrup, three tubs of Haagen Daz or Breyers, whichever they have in stock."

Fat Rachel stroked her chin, then nodded. "Fair enough." Vibrations ran along the wall. She coughed. "Are you okay? You look kinda, swaying."

I frowned. It wasn't my fault she was spinning around with the rest of the world. A hulking figure swung down from the overpass, a poppy potion held in his shovel-sized hands. I swung my ax at him, but it only took a little chunk spinning out of the purple meat. No vital organs. It was terrible, especially with the pounding in my head and my legs turning to warm pudding. I tried to think of tactics appropriate for this situation, but before I could react Rachel fell on top of me. I tried to rise, but again my awesome muscles were full of pudding. Everything took on a purple haze, like the song, and the world faded into black. I had no option but to take a heroic power-nap. Just a few seconds, and then I would split open that giant's ugly face.