"Clarisse?"

"Shut up."

"Clarisse."

"I said shut up."

"Aw, come on, Clarisse. I apologized, didn't I?"

"Get away from me, you peasant."

"…Peasant?"

"Yeah, it's new. How do you like it?"

"It's got a certain ring to it, but although a very derogatory insult, it's so old fashioned that it just seems humorous."

"…"

"So, you're not mad at me?"

"What makes you think that?"

"You called me a peasant. Your insults are usually a whole lot more, well, offending when you're really mad."

Sigh. "I guess I'm not really that mad."

"So, you'll play another game with me?"

"Ha, as if. You cheated."

"I did not!"

"You did. You are a stinkin', cheatin', lyin' son of Hermes."

"Thank you. And if you didn't get it through your thick Ares head, that was sarcasm. Now, another game?"

"…Fine. Just don't cheat again."

"No worries. I don't need to cheat to win."

"Well you did last time. But I'll play anyways."

"Alright. You know the rules?"

"I taught you this game. And I'm regretting it—only you would get so hooked on such a kiddish game."

"Okedoke. One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!"

"Five, six, seven, eight. Try to keep your thumb—Augh! S-stop!"

"Are you ticklish? I had no idea."

"Ch-cheater!"

"I'm not a cheater! You should be able to play while being tickled at the same time. I can do it! Hey! You know, jumping backwards is an immediate surrender in a thumb war."

"Well, for one, you're not ticklish. And second, you'd better run for your life."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wonder if any minute now a hellhound is going to burst into camp and eat us all? I mean, for all we know, this is our last day alive."

"I guess it's possible. But I won't be eaten."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"'Cause of my dazzling personality and awesome skills." Cue cocky smirk.

"Ha, right. You'd probably be cowering behind me."

"That's not a bad idea. Thanks, Clarisse!"

"Ugh, seriously? If the hellhound tried to eat me, what would you do?"

"Stand by."

"You won't try to help me?"

"Clarisse, you're not a damsel in distress, you know that. If I tried to get in the way, I'd die. Not because I'm a sucky fighter or anything—"

"You are."

"Aw, shut it. I'm not that bad at all. But you'd kill me for getting in the way. Duh. So I'd stand by until you need me."

"Until? I think you mean in the slightest chance, even smaller than a hellhound bounding into camp's chance."

"Well, it happened before."

"That was that idiot Jackson's fault. Nothing to do with camp."

"Technically, it was Luke."

"Jackson."

Sigh. "Sure, Clarisse."

"Was that sarcasm, Chris?"

"What? Sarcasm? You must be hearing things."

"…Peasant."