Hey, everyone. This hit me almost right after I finished my last story, and I was working on a plot ever since. I finally think I'm ready, but I still have a couple gaps. And I'll fill those gaps pretty much depending on you guys. I'll take anything you got: reviews, follows, favorites, ideas, pretty much anything.

Oh, and yes, I know Travis and Connor aren't twins, but just for the sake of this story, please just go with it?

Hope you enjoy!


A Great Commencement

Travis Stoll managed to find happiness in the oddest places.

He also managed to find trouble a lot. In fact, he managed to make trouble almost everywhere. So when Travis got the news that he was going to his dream fencing camp, he was excited. Just not for completely same reasons his mom thought.

He was on a shuttle bus, sitting next to a girl he didn't know. She wasn't particularly pretty, erring on the more bulky side. She wore a size XXXL T-shirt. Travis knew- hey, no telling- because he had shoved some friendly bugs down her shirt. She had yet to notice the big red rash that was going to form by tomorrow morning. Fortunately, the girl hadn't suspected him yet.

Unfortunately, Travis had gotten crammed against the window and the girl had shut herself off the minute the bus started groaning, talking to some of her other friends. Every three seconds, he'd be given that Who-brought-this-loser-here? look.

Clearly, he had nothing better to do, so he thought about the day his mom had handed him the envelope with the CHB seal engraved on it. Travis had been just about to hand the fancy envelope back to his mom, (that's what he usually did) when he noticed his name printed on the label. Travis Stoll, it read.

He tore it open neatly with a letter opener. He was skilled with those things, he couldn't understand why.

Dear Travis Stoll,

You have been accepted in the Camp Half-Blood summer training camp. We understand that you applied to major for the fencing department, and because of your outstanding application, we have decided that you are best fit to specialize in this new course.

We have enclosed two one-way plane tickets to New York, NY. One is for actual use, and the other is a spare, just in case. Upon your arrival into New York, you will look for the shuttle bus labeled Delphi Strawberry Service. We are, as you know, a much diversified camp. The shuttle bus will drive you to our camp location.

The letter had gone on to explain more, but Travis had gotten the message loud and clear. He was in! Travis had shouted and whooped, hugged his mom, delivered the news, when it had sunk in. He'd be away from his cozy bed for 2 weeks. Not to mention his prank kit. Oh well, he'd take the to-go box.

Travis lived in Atlanta, GA. His "house" was technically a huge expanse of green well-trimmed grass with a well-planned mansion conveniently sitting upon the grass. There was also the paved road, which Travis would occasionally take the golf cart for a test drive.

Travis had his own butler named George (some of the time; George got quite cranky when he didn't have his meal at the proper time) and his dream car had already come true (despite Travis himself being a good 2 or 3 years away from the permit itself).

Travis was 13, getting awfully close to 14. He had one of those really late summer birthdays, and because of that, he was one of the youngest people in his grade. It got awfully annoying sometimes, but he made up for it by being a good lot smarter than most other kids in his grade.

The only downside of living rich was the less time with Travis' mom. Her name was Madison Evans. She was the sweetest thing alive. She was an architect who worked 24/7, not to mention a single mom. She had pretty brown hair, which became curly in the humidity. Since they lived in Georgia, Madison's hair was almost always curly, like Travis. She had really light blue eyes, a uniquely lucid blue. They weren't even close to Travis' own brown though.

Whenever Travis would get in trouble, she'd scold him, Travis Stoll! Travis could never fathom why she called him that. Evans was her maiden name- the one she had stuck by- and for some reason, the sound of Travis Evans didn't really click to her. Travis had always figured Stoll to be like some kind of middle name. Although, when Travis wondered what kind of parents would name their kid Stoll, he had no answer.

Travis didn't know whether a really long walk to the mailbox would count as a downside either. He supposed it did.

He'd left most of his chemical lab at home, just brought some supplies for the simple classics. He had to prank some campers and make them just a little mad, or else Travis wouldn't be able to have any fun at all.

When he was packing, Travis had been sure to separate his clothes from some of the more sticky substances. They were not to be messed with under any circumstance. Did Travis say simple pranks? Whoops. But then again, even the easy pranks are sometimes hard to pull off.

When Travis was told his yellow duffle bag would be shipped separately with all the other campers' luggage, Travis almost made a show of himself. He started praying to the gods, hoping his delicate stuff wouldn't get jostled the wrong way.

The shuttle bus dude, Argus, had given him "The Evil Eyes"-somehow managing to look creepy with both eyes- and Travis had stopped and tried to silence the snickering crowd with a joke.

It hadn't worked, and he had gotten shoved up against the unflatteringly cold window in the back of the bus.

Just when he thought life couldn't get any worse, the bus groaned again and bounced to a halt. Travis stupidly jerked forward, banging his head on the brown seat in front of him.

"Ow," he muttered, sure there would be lasting effects.

The mean bullies grunted and laughed.

"Alright, kiddies," shouted Argus from the front. "This is your stop. Single file, orderly fashion. No pushing."

As if fate had a destiny in store for him like the Fates had their ever snipping hands dug into the fates of ancient heroes before him, Travis was shoved backwards, and fell back into the seat just as he stood up. He was the last person off the bus.

"Some hero," he muttered.

"What was that, eh?" asked Argus, cupping a hand to his ear.

Travis looked up sharply. "Nothing, sir, nothing at all. Just wondering why I signed up for this camp in the first place. Already, I don't feel like I belong."

Argus merely shrugged and put a smile on. His eyes almost seemed to twinkle like the stars above as he replied, "To the contrary, boy, you might find you do, in fact, belong here."

Travis stared at him as if he had grown a third eye.

As the moment seemed to fade into something more awkward, Argus clapped a hand on Travis' back, "Get going, boy. I have to load a whole another batch of you."

Travis stepped out of the bus, his bones creaking. Now where was that yellow duffle bag?


Connor Stoll had a nut for a dad.

His dad wasn't particularly nutty; just he had somehow deluded Connor into going to this fencing camp all the way across the country in Long Island, NY, despite Connor having NO prior experience at all at fencing. Did Hermes Stoll want Connor to die alone, and get skewered by a pointy stick?

It apparently seemed so. When Connor had brought up that very crucial little point, Hermes had shrugged and simply said, "You'd learn. It's in your blood."

What was he supposed to say to that? What kind of answer was that? Connor had a lot of questions, and it seemed that Hermes Stoll never seemed to answer these questions completely.

Take the time Connor had asked about his name. Why was he named Connor and not something cooler like Blake?

"Gee, Connor, I don't know. It just seemed to fit. Connor Stoll and- and company."

Besides, Hermes Stoll was the kind of dad who cared by not caring. He owned a HUGE shipping company, and for a good portion of Connor's early years (well, the small stuff he could remember) Hermes had immersed himself in his mail business.

Since Connor was 8, he had complained about Hermes not being around all the time, but Hermes would only say the same thing again and again. "Did you know that when I was only a baby, I crawled out of my crib, and made my way to my destiny: a letter opener? My parents had thrown a fit when they returned to see me with a particularly dangerous weapon, but by then I knew what I wanted to do. It was my destiny."

The last time Connor's dad had narrated his autobiography, Connor had interrupted, rolling his eyes and muttering, "Any good parent would have freaked." Connor, since age 8, had discovered the wonderful uses of sarcasm.

Hermes looked at Connor, almost like seeing him for the first time. "Nonsense. I held my fate in my hands. I knew I was destined for this."

"What, running around like a crazy man in brown shorts and knee-length socks delivering matching brown packages to the good people of the world?" Connor had also asked sarcastically.

Hermes almost didn't notice his son's particularly evident sarcasm. "That's it!" Hermes yelled, almost frightening Connor, who flinched. "You're perfect for the job! You're hired!"

"But, Dad," Connor complained, "I have no talent." Or interest, he thought. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but as always, Connor bit back the words and let him get sucked into Hermes' schemes.

So, considering Connor's inability to come clean with his father, Connor supposed he could blame himself this time for getting into this pointless fencing camp.

Actually, ignore that unintentional pun.

By the time Connor had finally gotten his dad's attention, his company had become a nationwide success. It was all over the headlines. Who would have thought that a small neighborhood mail system originating in a suburb just outside of Los Angeles, CA would turn into one of the most reliable mail service providers in the country?

Connor had been about 10 when this had happened. His dad became "financially independent." The company had more money than it would ever need. So, Connor and his dad- who was pretty much ready for retirement at 35- packed their bags and moved to a vineyard up in northern California. Connor got used to it pretty soon, and ended up really liking it soon.

It felt good to be just Connor, Hermes, the cook, Martha- who was practically a part of the family- and the grapes. Then the fencing camp just ruined it. Connor wondered what would happen while he was gone. Connor was supposed to spend 8 weeks away from his dad, and majoring in a sport he didn't even know about until the last summer Olympics.

The only joy Connor would find would be in his pranks at camp. Oh, come on. Connor had to have just a little fun before he'd get kicked out and sent back home in a neat 'Olympus Shipping' package.

By the time Connor had gotten off his exhausting Los Angeles-to-New York flight, he was tired and suffering immensely from jetlag.

So when his exhausted eyes finally found the Delphi Strawberry Service shuttle logo, he just about ran over there. Too bad he tripped on the steps and found his face inches from the Watch-Your-Step sign.

"Urlgh," he groaned, peeling his face from the ground.

The bus driver looked at him strangely. His name tag read Agris, wait Arsgo? Sorry, Connor was slightly dyslexic, and his face was still suffering from the floor's imprint on him.

The letters settled into something like Argus.

"Sorry," muttered Connor, now turning to face the mob of fellow campers, who were still laughing their heads off their necks.

"Say, kid, didn't I drop you off at camp already?" asked Argus.

"No, I think I'd remember that. Must've been someone else," said Connor in a daze.

"Yeah," said the bus driver, uneasily.

Connor shrugged it off, and found a seat in the very back of the bus. Almost immediately, the bus lurched forward, and he found that no one else wanted to sit next to him. Wait, scratch that. No one even wanted to sit even close to him.

Connor sighed, and pressed his head against the window. Then, he saw a little tiny pink post-it note taped cleverly to the inside of the seat in front of him.

He ripped it off and read, stuck in the window seat.

Connor sighed, and began folding the post-it note to make a mini paper airplane. He found that it could, in fact, fly. Then he lost it when the plane flew to the very front of the bus, hit Argus in the back of his neck, and crumpled like a real man.

In the rearview mirror, Connor could see Argus' eyes almost involuntarily flicker towards Connor.

Connor ducked his head, but Argus didn't seem to get mad or say anything. It was almost too good to be true.

Then, the bus grunted to a stop, and Connor's bent head rammed the seat in front of him. He rubbed his head, muttering some curses.

Connor stood up, and everyone gave him a wide berth.

Some of the nicer kids mumbled a couple thanks to Argus up front. Connor tried not to make eye contact, but failed when Argus put a hand on his shoulder stopping him.

"What'd you say your name was again, kid?"

"Connor Stoll, sir."

The answer almost seemed to satisfy him. Argus let go, and Connor left pretty quickly. He needed to find some friends, pronto.

This place was crowded. It shouldn't be too hard, thought Connor. Besides, Connor needed an accomplice.

He never thought he might find two.