White Walls

December 1968

Obed Sherry was nervous.

That phenomena in itself could have become cause for alarm as Obed was never nervous. Not to say he was ever particularly calm. He was a tangled bundle of pent up energy, an eternal whirlwind with no signs of slowing. He was a legend among the residents of Camp Half Blood, talked about as much as the Pile of Shit (otherwise known as Zeus' Fist) and the campers were as wary of him as the cleaning harpies (though, for entirely different reasons). He was known to be many things, but never nervous.

As he walked, bare feet crunching against the white shit on the ground, he observed the somewhat halted camp commotion from the corners of his eyes as he rubbed his hands against his arms in a feeble attempt to ward off the chilling breeze. A breeze which brought forth mounds of snow and ice across the camp, glinting against the sun like a winter wonderland. A sight beautiful to many.

Obed really hated winter (yet, he hated Euterpe even more so) and couldn't fathom how and why letting Camp Half Blood freeze once a year, every year, was good for anyone. Nothing about winter was appealing to him. The Apollo Pléon-Aristos Choir singing "Carol of the Bells" thirty times a day got old back in '28. The "Snow Battles of Death" between Hermes and Ares was borderline dangerous, even for him. The constant chatter of who was gonna get 'x' amount of people 'x' amount of presents kept him up at night. Euterpe yodeling Christmas carols like a feminine Swiss goat herder every morning...It really wasn't his time of the year.

He turned around eyeing a camper. The kid, Son of Hermes William O'Neal apparently, paused his arm wrestle with an Ares camper, Calliope Mahelona, to give him a grin and a thumbs up with his idle hand before screaming as Callie used his momentary distraction to win. In any other case, Obed might've found that hilarious, but he was still nervous and couldn't think of any reason William would give him a thumbs up. He was pretty sure the redhead hated him. For one thing or another. He wasn't sure.

He entered the Big House, relief flooding him at the feeling of warm air, jumped every three steps up the stairs, and knocked on the door of Chiron's office.

Not even five seconds later, the door opened, interrupting Obed's thoughts on the anatomy of a centaur and how fast they needed to be to be able to make it across the room and around the pile of texts and yellowing ancient scrolls he noticed as he peered inside.

"Hey, Mr. C!" he said with a mock salute.

Mr. C, or "Chiron" as he preferred to be called, gave a fatherly smile, if a little strained, reaching to his old brown eyes followed shortly by a grimace. Obed wasn't sure if it was a result of the pile of texts and yellowing ancient scrolls which gradually increased in number (like an unstable Tower of Paperwork) or how the song on Chiron's record player switched with a loud screech from Frank Sinatra's "Spring is Here" to the the Beatles "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da", a band he still hadn't gotten around to liking, and probably never would considering campers try to recreate their songs by using lyres and flutes or whatever else the Apollo cabin had lying around.

"Hello, Obed," he stepped back, waving his hand in a "come in, come in" gesture.

As Obed walked in, nearly tripping over a pile of paper that had just appeared in front of the door. He gave a low whistle, taking in the rest of Chiron's office.

Having been in the camp director's office before, he was now pretty sure to totally positive that the pile of scrolls completely covered where his desk used to be. The wooden floor itself was no longer visible; to walk was like to wade in shin high water. Then he realized why the lights must have been so dim. The day, sunny and bright, should have shone through a window. However, the window wasn't in sight and that avalanche waiting to happen most certainly hadn't existed before where it should've been.

"Excuse the Early Germanic, Mr. C," Obed started, grabbing a handful of papers a foot off the ground. He watched as it curiously crumpled and fell to ash, vanishing as it did. "But what the fuck happened to your office?"

He heard Chiron sigh from behind him. He couldn't be positive if the sigh was directed at the clutter or at him for cursing. If the latter was the case, he supposed eighty years as a camper still made him a kid in the eyes of a centaur older than the Roman Empire.

"Not even I know everything," Chiron answered, his attention completely on the state of his office to Obed's relief. "But," he swept his hand over his desk, clearing it in one clean motion. "It would be safe to attest it to the Athena and Hermes cabin partnership."

"Yeah," Obed rubbed the back of his head, his fingers getting tangled in the tangled black mess he called hair. He thought back on the Athena and Hermes partnership among the half-bloods. They teamed up in everything, from strategic activities to dangerous practical jokes and he wasn't really sure how long it had been going on or if he had anything to do with it.

"You did," Chiron responded to the statement he didn't think he spoke out loud.

"Ah." Well, if Obed did that, then there's no telling what else he had done before his latest annoying bout of amnesia. "Why'd I do that again?"

Turning around, he raised his eyebrows and suppressed a laugh at the site of Mr. C doing one of the most mundane things he'd ever seen. Mr. C had conjured a broom out of nowhere and was sweeping. That there was something.

"You told Adam Anthonys that his cabin would be better off if they took more risks and that Felix Hardgrave's cabin would be better off if they incorporated more of a "strategic procedure to their endeavors"." The floor cleared up around all four of Chiron's feet before quickly reappearing and double the size. Chiron shouted something in turn. A little ancient Greek something about where the Beatles' beloved Desmond and Molly Jones should go and how they should get there.

He took a deep breath before walking through the pile of paper currently his height. "Did you need something important?" His voice was a higher pitch than normal and Obed never thought that Mr. C could get any more stressed out than that major incident with the centaur's extended family came to visit unprecedented for three months in the spring '63. And yet, here he was.

"Well," Obed started, his fingers ripping larger holes in the pockets of his jeans, fiddling as much as they were, "I was wondering-"

"You were wondering about the television set." He said it like he knew about the discussion of it around camp.

Course he did.

"And it's hip and everything if you say no," he added before Mr. C could reject it, "but we were all kinda hopin' you'd let us watch the greatest achievement of mankind in human history on the live Nightly News, y'know?"

Word had spread among the camp, word that came from the campers who left during the school year. Of course, the latest news about the latest music and the vinyl to prove it, or such news like how the Apollo 8 crew were planning to orbit around the moon. And damn it all if he were going to miss that. Even if it meant leaving the camp for a few days, an action he hadn't dared follow through with all the years he'd lived there.

"Obed, son," Mr. C said softly, sweeping the floor in futility. "You were speaking out loud again."

Obed cursed inwardly.

"And as for the greatest achievement in all human history, I'd have to say the completely human Wilbur and Orville Wright are the winners of that prize."

Obed groaned. "They didn't record that. And, there wasn't a single TV in existence back then even if they could."

"There are reasons that we don't use such technology inside these camp walls, Obed. I am not the one who created the rules. They're only in place to keep all of you safe."

Obed raised an eyebrow. "Besides learning the ins and outs of spilling guts."

Chiron mumbled in agreement. It was a constant between them, debating what technology would make it into the camp as the years turned into decades. It was by constant suggestion that the record player made it in. Chiron, however, had stood steadfast against the idea of including a television set to it.

"Yeah, so, what if monsters are already attracted to the smell of our blood and having a big TV broadcasting our scent far and wide isn't the smartest decision?" Chiron allowed a chuckle at that. "Why don't we just plate it with bronze or something? Wouldn't that work, old man?" He had hung around the Hephaestus cabin long enough to know the pros and cons to many types of metals although they mostly went in one ear and out the other. After time, he came up with the bright idea that if celestial bronze was that toxic to monsters, it only made sense if it kept them away.

"I have to admit, I hadn't thought about that," Chiron, rubbing his chin. Obed understood that tone as meaning "Of course I've thought of that". "However, if you and the campers are so pressed on this, an Iris Message to Hermes would be a matter to take care of…"

Obed nodded, a large smile growing across his face. "Yeah?"

"...And possibly a room to put it in as it most certainly won't be added to my office..."

"Right on, Mr. C." Obed was practically jumping on his heels at the moment.

"But this clutter, this hex of some kind, would need to be considered before any other action takes place Not to mention that unauthorized construction of a flaming rock wall. What were you thinking, Obed?"

"Awww," Obed whined, although it was more for an immature dramatic effect. The nerves were gone, his fingers dancing widely across his folded arms, and now the TV set was a possibility.

Yet, looking around, he wasn't sure where to begin fixing this.

"I'll be right back," he promised as he ran through a six-foot high stack of paper and out the door. Exiting the Big House, he made a show of bowing before the eager and waiting campers before jumping with a yell of triumph. He felt a slight pang in his chest as finally recognizing why everyone had been watching him before and William had given him a thumbs up. Earlier that day, he said he would try to make a deal with Mr. C. Shortly after he forgot.

Damn this mind, he thought, gathering the Athena and Hermes kids into a huddle. He informed them about what was to happen and how they would do it. He assigned the Athena campers with de-hexing Mr. C's office while the Hermes campers were to, sadly, dismantle the flaming rock wall. For now, at least.

He Iris Messaged Hermes about the conversation with the Camp Director. In a few hours, the state of Chiron's office was restored to something respectable and the TV was delivered. As the night fell, the setting sun painting the sky red and gold, all were gathered inside an unused storage room of the Big House crowded around the television set, practically sitting on top of one another.

Obed stood at the back of the room leaning against its white walls. He, and everyone else (except the resident cynic, Harriet Yew, who blurted this was all staged and everyone knew that this was just a way to make the Commies feel bad) held their breath while they heard the astronauts recite passages from the Bible. Passages Obed could remember his mother reciting to them as if it was the best bedtime story of all time (although Obed personally preferred stories about daring adventure).

That memory, however, seemed to provoke a crack in the wall of his mind allowing other memories to slip through. Memories tended to give him a headache and he didn't need a headache during this program of all times.

It wasn't until people stumbled out in a ruckus of shouting and yawning into the moonlit night that Obed came across a memory of walking into Mr. C's office with a hex book earlier in the day when the director was attending to other camp matters with a plan to bring things to heck.

Now, wasn't that somethin'.

-BREAK-

So, here's Obed and a brief mention of Callie. Please review (and some constructive stuff would be preferred)!