Chapter Three: I Wake Up and Smell the Strawberry Latte

Okay. I admit defeat.

It was the strawberry fields that did it.

As the satyr guided me along the sandy lanes that made up Camp Half-Blood, I couldn't help but take in the godly aroma of my favourite fruit in the world.

Until I realised what adjective I had just applied to it.

"Is it even possible to…to…" I quibbled, pointing a quavering finger at the fields. Strawberries that were more crimson than blood bulged out of the bushes in the distance.

"Why don't you come and observe, then?" Murphy dared, smirking at me as he darted towards them.

"Wait!"

I sprinted after him; the temptation to stop and smell the fields again was overwhelming.

Murphy was much faster than I had suspected; his hooves made him amble across the cobbled footpath like tarmac; whilst I unceremoniously almost twisted my ankle.

"Bugger!" I said, as I feel to the ground with all the bearings of a clumsy mongoose.

I paused.

The sensation of somebody looming over me crept up me, sending shivers up my spine.

Slowly, I looked up.

And found –

"OH MY GOOOOOOOOOODS! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!"

The shriek was so high pitched, I had to close my eyes, cover my ears and yell, "WHAT THE-"

The shriek promptly ended, and I was yanked up from the ground by a strong, chocolate coloured arm, only to meet a pair of icy blue eyes.

"Uh. Hello?"

The person was breathing heavily, her hands waving up and down as if to calm herself. Unfortunately, to me she looked like she was trying to fly.

To my surprise, the girl was a satyr; the small horns protruding from her curly black hair told me that much. Her orange Camp Half Blood t-shirt looked almost fluorescent against her dark skin, a necklace with cubic beads strung on it.

On one of them, I could've sworn I saw a picture of a centaur wearing a prom dress.

In between breaths, she said, "Oh…emm…geee…I'm so sorry, it's just that….that we haven't…haven't had any new campers in absolutely freakin' ages!"

She grasped me by the shoulders and started shaking me back and forth, seemingly oblivious to my horrified expression.

"Um." I said weakly.

The satyr finally paused. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry. I get so excited when this happens. Anyway," she said brightly, throwing in a smile for good measure. "My name is-"

"Chloe Harper." Murphy said. The satyr named Chloe spun around to look at him, casually leaning against the wall of a gardening shed.

"Murphy! We have a new camper! YAY!" She exclaimed, dashing over to him.

"I know, I know…"

"What's his name?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Murphy said flatly.

"Oh yeah!" Chloe answered, walking back to me.

She seemed to totally miss the fact that I had no idea what was going on.

"What's your name, honey?" she asked sweetly.

"Uh…I'm Marlin Mason. Ravished to meet you."

Chloe gave me an odd look. "Ravished?"

My vocabulary did the splits. "Oh, shit, wrong word. Excuse me for a moment…"

I pulled my Highly Convenient Thesaurus out my trouser pocket, and looked up the word, 'ravished.'

"Let's see…raped to meet you? Oh gods, no…erm, ecstatic to meet you? Nah, too flamboyant…how about…ah HA!" I pointed demonstratively at the page, and looked up at Murphy and Chloe from over the top of the thesaurus. "Let's try that again, shall we?"

After stowing the book away in my pocket, I cleared my throat and crossed my arms, smiling for the satyrs' added anticipation of my supreme linguistic prowess.

"Ahem. I'm Marlin Mason. Elated to meet you."

Chloe's mouth hung open.

"You keep a thesaurus in your pocket?"

I knitted my brow. "Why the hell not? What self-respecting author doesn't? I mean, how can I possibly hope to publish my guide to growing hyacinths without finding alternative adjectives for the colour pink? Honestly!"

The two satyrs gaped at me.

"Um, Marlin?" Murphy said.

"What?"

His eyes gestured past my shoulder, his cheeks seemingly burning with embarrassment.

I looked behind me, and found a centaur.

A centaur wearing a tweed jacket over his russet coloured fur, with four powerful legs that were topped off with four mighty hooves. His face was old and wizened, like he had taken the onslaught of millennia but refused to back down. Did I mention he had a human torso, complete with two human arms that carried a shimmering bronze javelin.

He smiled at me.

And that was when I suppose I woke up and smelt the metaphorical coffee, or whatever caffeinated beverage it is that people insist on using in these analogy thingies. Strawberry flavoured coffee, that is, straight from the Starbucks of Reality and delivered by the Satyr of Oh-My-God-I'm-Not-On-Dope, fresh from the very fields before me, after which I tasted the truth and realised who I was.

Look, the whole point of this stupid metaphor is that I fainted.