Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Kameron's heart raced as she scanned the faces of the people in front of her. Most of them struggled to keep their poker faces, but the small hint of a frown on all of their lips gave away just how much pressure they were in. She glanced quickly at her own cards.
"I'll raise you five hundred, girl," a man from the corner of the table grunted, stacking the piles of cash in the small, crude circle. The golden eyed-teen nodded, laying down a simple five bills. Each one had the face of Benjamin Franklin staring up at the ceiling.
The only thing that betrayed her own nervousness was the fact she repeatedly stroked her chocolate colored hair.
The same man puffed at his cigarette. His gaze flicked around the table, and as if he had shown a signal, everyone except the girl and himself laid down their cards. The two remaining players stared at each other. Finally, the girl in the glasses took a deep breath, and, pushing up her narrow glasses, nodded to the man. The two shoved their cards in the center, face up.
The man paled. "You've won yet again," he muttered. Kameron silently reached forwards and shoved the cash into a grocery bag which seemed to be already stuffed to the rim. She stood.
The girl bowed her head, once again pushing up her glasses. Her hand slipped into the handle of the cheap bag, and she let her arm swing for a second, as if to taunt the group of the seven or eight much older men in front of her. "Have a nice night, gentlemen," she mumbled, forcing herself to keep the emotionless façade going.
With that, she turned and left the humble coffee shop.
A smile replaced the grim line on her face, as she looked around in wonder. The streets of New York City at night never ceased to amaze her. Every time she looked, she would find something new that wasn't there the day before—the previous week, a limo had started parking in the handicapped spot at 7:00 sharp. Yesterday, she had caught someone in the limo, staring intently at her. She was only able to take in the electric blue eyes before the head, from the darkened window, moved out of sight. The stare had sent chills up her spine, and she wasn't able to sleep that night.
Her gaze fell upon said automobile. Like always, she felt an unexplainable urge to go forward and to stroke the black hood with her fingers—she had always loved cars—and so, even though the time was dreadfully late and she had a house to clean, she let her feet carry her to the sleek car. Once she arrived, her fingers grazed across the faint window.
The same head popped up again. Kameron gasped. She stumbled backwards a step, before realizing that, in fact, there was no head…it was just a reflection…
Before she had time to turn and see who had loomed behind her, she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck. Her eyes, despite the fact she desperately tried to keep them pried open, fell shut. She collapsed.
Kameron stirred. She felt her finger twitch. Her eyes opened just a fraction. She lay there for a moment, trying to think about what had happened. She had stroked the limo, and—
She bolted upright, her golden orbs snapping completely open. She tried to make sense of all of the blurriness around her. Her hands fumbled around, felling the immediate space around her. Cloth. Something soft and springy below that. A sudden rise, then another hill of the soft substance. Then, wood.
Her eyebrows pushed together. She couldn't make sense of what was around her. A blurry figure moved, making its way across a space, and confronted her.
"A little lost without your glasses, are you?" a feminine-sounding voice inquired. She—Kameron thought—sounded amused.
She simply nodded.
The figure reached down and placed something on her hand. She quickly grabbed it, brushing her fingers around it to identify it. When she was certain that it was what she desired, she quickly set the thin frame on her face. She blinked a couple of times, then recoiled in shock, a small yelp coming from her lips.
The head had been 'sewn' onto a body. The distinctive electric blue color seemed to cut into her soul. The girl—now she was certain of it—had spiky, black hair, and wore a punk jacket, complete with the studs. A smirk was plastered upon her face as she calmly watched the brunette. After a silence between the two, the blackette sighed, shaking her head. "Jesus. Aren't going to say anything, are ya? Well, welcome to Camp Half-Blood."