==John: Become sure, for better or worse.
John? What John would be subject to this referral? Why, you don't think that you've even ever known of anyone by the name of John. Which is strange, to say the least; it's a very common name in other parts and you're sure that many a gentleman introduces himself as John! But you most certainly don't.
Your name is Jake English and more than anything, you like to run.
Running is one of the finer things in life, and you do it well—you're not sure whether you enjoy it so much because of your father, or because you really do love it, but you're one hundred percent certain that you've acquired most of your skill from him. There's something quite relaxing in pacing yourself, having your feet moving in a swift rhythm along any sort of terrain, in keeping your balance and breathing in, out, in, out. After a good run you always feel happier than you did before. You always feel lighter, like anything is possible.
Being a demigod (a son of Hermes, to be exact, which doesn't make you of the highest renown but you're still rather at peace with who your father is), there are a great many things that are.
Trekking through the city while dodging civilians and pedestrians on bicycles only goes so far. The annual summer trip to Camp Half-blood, safe haven for demigods and assorted other mythical creatures, has always been the one thing you looked forward to most during the school year—as well as the one thing your grandmother has forever loathed the most. You suppose that the reason is because she can't keep an eye on you while you're away, but if you're honest, that's one of your more prominent reasons for going in the first place. That, and running through the forest surrounding the camp, dodging fallen logs and protruding tree roots instead of people, is far more satisfactory than running anywhere else. Perhaps it's the knowledge that you don't have to pretend to get tired quickly like everyone else, or maybe simply because your light-footedness feels more natural in a natural environment, but whatever it is, you tend to make sure that you're one of the few campers who rise far earlier than they need to. You strive to do so in order to make certain that you're in the best shape you possibly can be.
Who knows when your athletic abilities will come into play as something supremely useful, after all? Quests are neither a concept nor an assigned activity that you're unfamiliar with, and you're rather hopeful that you'll get to go on another one soon—in fact, you know that you will!
All you have to do is wait patiently and make sure you're properly prepared.
When you were younger, the admittedly few field trips (you'd just finished first grade when you'd been told of your heritage) you'd ever gone on were—in general—boring to you: you could never concentrate for too long on what the tour guide in any museum was talking about, and you had to blink a couple times to even be able to compute even a few words of descriptions from the small plaques on exhibits. There'd been reasons for that that you'd discovered later, but back then your assumed inabilities were simply a nuisance.
Summer field trips are far more interesting.
The most interesting, by far, are the trips taken to Olympus; the place itself is most definitely intriguing, as well as the information it offers. If you care to look and listen, the Gods are more telling than they think! It was in that way that you'd deduced that the big quest you're looking forward to might not be so far off. Granted, you've made sure to keep it quiet, since you don't think that the Gods would take too kindly to having their unrest broadcasted for all to hear, but still, you have the knowledge. It's that knowledge that has you working so hard these days, to the mixed annoyance and amusement of the other currently in-residence campers.
It takes about half an hour for you to work up a light sweat while you're running, now, and you've been trying to lengthen that time, throwing yourself eagerly into training routines as well as spending your free time gallivanting through the forest. Normally you circumvent Camp Half-Blood along the borders a few times, just in case there's a new camper coming in that requires your assistance (which hasn't happened yet but has a chance of occurring!), and occasionally running into another fellow that you're quite sure you'd rather talk about later.
Eventually, though, you reluctantly remind yourself through the light feeling that running never fails to give you that you have other duties to attend to, and head back to camp.
The Hermes cabin is empty when you amble in through the front door, though many of the beds are made up as usual—you've got no issues with that, however. Not all of the Gods claim their children, and you're more than willing to let the undetermined kids stay in your cabin until they do. (While it is not entirely your choice, you don't need to be asked to take them in either way.) You cross the distance to your stowed belongings and sit yourself down on top of the bed, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply, exhaling slowly afterwards. Once finished, you lean down to retie the laces of your shoes. You've got work to do, and you don't want to trip up, after all!
(It's almost a joke to say that; you're not sure you've ever actually tripped in your life.)
You exit the cabin once you feel that you're ready to get something done. During midday the sun always beats down on the camp mercilessly, and you're forced to shield your eyes as they survey the area, searching for—
"Chiron wants to see you, Jake," someone calls out to you.
Your eyebrows raise of their own volition as your head turns in the direction of the caller, curiosity settling into even your mannerisms. "Oh? Did he say why?" you inquire in return, interest peaked. You try to quell the excited feeling rising in your stomach, scolding yourself for getting hopeful. (Perhaps it's about a quest?)
"Nah, but I saw," they respond. "We've got ourselves a brand new camper."