'ello, readers! I finally improved the description, and I hope it brought you right here- to the latest chapter of *Drum roll please*, Breaking the Rules! In the original story, Jade was a child of Artemis, but I changed that. My dweeby past self thought it'd be super cool to bend the ancient rules and make my character the most perfectest, like, evar!1!1!1111!1

-Peii

Jade: I already don't like this new char.

Me: You've hardly spoken two words to him.

Jade: He implied that I smoke!

Me: Well, you did have nicotine patches on…

Jade: You're the worst. Good thing you don't own PJO or HoO (or Sherlock Holmes, Sir Conan Doyle, and Sherlock, BBC).

Me: Low blow.

"Chiron sent me to look after you," he said. His face split into a more sinister grin, as if he knew something and I didn't. "Smoking's not very good for you, you know."

"Insults aren't very good for you," I sniffed, mimicking his (stupid, annoying) tone.

His grin wavered a bit. He tilted his head the other way, his golden hair falling into his eyes, and asked, "How so?" I gathered my limbs up and sat up straight, cross legged, and huffily on the lone pillow at the head of the bed. My choppy, all-to-long bangs were tangled up somewhere in the nest of curls stacked on top of my head, but if they weren't, I would've flipped them. That really made the bluff more realistic.

"They cause mentally unstable girls to knock your teeth out," I bit back.

He laughed at this. Why are people laughing at me so much lately? I mulled over this for a second, ignoring whatever the guy was blathering on about, until a sudden stabbing pain in my head brought me back to earth. The guy shut his trap, thank goodness, and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at me. It took me a moment to realize that I had let out a yelp. He glanced at the morphine tap and the spent patches that were peeling off my arm, and made a connection.

He glared at the floor in thought, and muttered, "I better be freaking credited for this." He stood up and walked over to the metal, wheeled cotside table that held my patches and the clear tubes (which were laying on a paper towel, connected to the drip next to the cart/end table/friggin'-white-thing-how-do-I-label-this). He grabbed my arm, causing me to shout some less than complimentary words, and slapped a new nicotine patch onto it, and ripped off the two old ones.

"You're lucky that that wasn't really morphine," he muttered.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed, and he winced. Something told me he didn't mean for me to hear that, which is idiotic, considering her said it while standing right beside me. He reached up to scratch the back of his head, letting go of my arm to do so. He picked up a clipboard from some random table that was so white I could hardly distinguish it from the rest of the room.

Clearing his throat, he interrupted my 'How was that not morphine?' narrow-eyed interrogation-fest, with, "I need to take your stats, but you're probably ready to leave. That guy- what was his name, Chris?- took the liberty of sneaking off to your house and getting a few things for you, lucky dog."

I shifted uncomfortably, and he sat back in the chair he was in when I woke up this morning (afternoon? Evening?). I scooted to the end of the bed and sat there, so I was across from him, with my elbows on my thighs and my tangled mass of hair flopping into my face. I tried to wipe the bleariness out of my eyes, but for now it was pretty much permanent. Even though I was sleepy, my head felt clearer than the last few days, and something was bothering me. I couldn't quite name it, so I kept myself aware of it while pushing it to the back of my mind. When I was fifteen, I came across this mini-series British TV show, based off of Sherlock Holmes, my favorite books ever, and saw that BBC's version of the detective had something called a 'Mind Palace,' and though I hadn't reread the books in a while, I was fairly certain that Sherlock did not have anything of the sort. When I first Googled it, it was out of dubiousness, slight annoyance (because I was ready at any moment to tear TV shows apart for having stupid mistakes in them), and midnight-sugar-high induced curiosity. I eventually came to a Tumblr blog about the fantastic art of 'Mind Palacing,' as I so dubbed it. I never fully mastered it, and I don't have a mind castle or anything, but the phase left me with the ability to imagine my brain as a file cabinet, and sort my thoughts into drawers and folders, and folders-inside-folders, etc. So, yeah. I would remember what it was eventually.

Meanwhile, that blonde jerkface (note: ask for his name, and then 'forget' it and call him something mildly to intensely insulting.) cleared his throat (Again! He better not give me a cold.) and began to interview me about my health.

"Okay, let's see… Have you had any odd dreams or night mares since yesterday?"

As far as I could tell, I had had a dreamless night, so I replied, "No."

"How aware of the sand and what you described as the 'decay scent' are you?"

"When did I describe it as such?" I don't remember telling Chiron that.

"Answer the damn question and we can both get on with our day."

"It's still vaguely there, but so far I've been able to control any impulses to freak out about it."

"Now I have to take your stats."

And he did just that, he wordlessly took my blood pressure, put a stethoscope to my chest, listened to my lungs, knocked on my knee, insulted me, and let me have a bathroom break that I desperately needed. He wrote all of the data in his clipboard, and when he was done, sat across from me on the bed, so we were back-to-back. For a minute or two, he continued to scribble notes onto his board, tapping his chin with his pen occasionally, and carrying it all out with a brooding glare that burned right through the paper.

"Well, I'll take these back to the cabi- I mean, I'll run these by Chiron and the doctors," he finally said. He left silently, and I lay on top of my covers, looking up at the ceiling. I stayed like that for a few minutes, before rolling to the edge of my cot and pulling my iPod out of the front pocket. I typed in the passcode, tapped on Pandora radio, and listened to my Mike Birbiglia station until I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up later to someone shaking me. I tried to breathe in through my nose, but it was apparently stuffed up, because I let loose a monster snort. I heard to familiar male voices laughing, probably at my expense. I sat up and forced my eyes open, and saw Corey and the weird blonde guy backlit by the tent flap, which hung slightly ajar.

"Guuuuuuuuuys," I groaned, still not fully awake, "You buttholes."

Corey helped me off the cot, and I stood, slumped over and blinking slowly, unable to hold my eyes open for more than a few seconds.

"Afternoon, sunshine," he said, and grinned. Jerkface was still in peals of laughter, with his hands on his knees and his lab coat still wrapped around his waist. I meekly waved at him, and put my hands on the small of my back, cracking my spine.

"Woooow, your right, she's a cutie," Jerkface chuckled. Both Corey and I rolled our eyes.

My best friend of four years, and my near-brother at this point, was keeping something very important from me. I knew it, and there was proof all around me- I didn't even know where I was! Yet, there we were, giggling with each other like we did every day since middle school. I don't know if it was the thing that was waging war against my sanity or just the need to be able to talk to him again, but all curiosity and questions, were, for once, pushed to the back of my mind, in the dust-bunny ridden alley behind the file cabinet.

After blondey whipped the tears out of his eyes and I woke up a bit, Corey took a plastic Wal-Mart bag that I hadn't seen before, and handed it to me. Inside I saw one of my many tank-tops and a strip of denim underneath, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner (it was my dad's, but I'll take what I can get), and a hair brush to top it all off. I gave him a small nod of appreciation, and headed to the bathroom that was somehow attached to the hospital-tent.

I hopped in the shower, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and found a loose ponytail band in my jeans pocket, with which I put my hair up. When I came out of the room, Corey and The Guy were chatting on the cot, where my grey converse, my school bag, and a small overnight bag lay in waiting. I sat next to them, and while tying my shoes, asked, "So, uhm… Where are we anyway?"

Corey responded with a sigh, then stood up, along with (I really need to learn his name), and stood at the entry.

"I'll explain after we meet up with Chiron," he said after a thoughtful pause. I sighed and picked up my two bags, slinging the backpack over my left shoulder. I followed Corey to the entrance, where I hesitated. After all, I was very confused (all of the confused, trust me), and this was the only place that I had seen since the EVEN MORE confusing incident with the random blackouts and strange dreams. I hadn't seen whatever was outside of the medical tent, and that scared me.

But with Mr. Annoyingface prodding me from behind and Corey in front, looking at us expectantly, I sucked it up, and stepped into the daylight.

After being immediately blinded by the high sun, I studied the scape in front of me. I was in the middle of a field, with volleyball nets, target practice setups, a rock wall, and many teens and tweens wandering around, using the sets, and sweating up a storm. They were all wearing bright orange t-shirts, which I assumed were the same as the one that Fawnah wore. If so, this Camp Half-Blood should really think about revising its name. To the right, I saw a sprawling, dark forest that stretched over valleys and hills, and stopped somewhere past the horizon. I turned my head to the left, and there I saw immediately beside us some other medical tents, with red crosses painted on the sides. Past them, were a few showers and a dark, odd-looking cabin. In fact, all the cabins (which seemed to be organized in a shape that I couldn't name, because of my angle) look really weird. The closest one (the dark one) was black, with over-pronounced shadows and green torches. It didn't seem like a prime spot. The smell from the baths probably drifted right over. I imagine those campers keep a few fans around. The one nearest (giving the shape a corner) was rather simple, it seemed to be wet, and shimmering with dew, and was made of a metal-like material that shined blue, mainly, but other colors appeared on it depending on how the sun hit it. I found myself rather transfixed with it, and before I knew it, I was tilting my head in all kinds of ways to see how the colors changed. Corey cleared his throat (why is everyone doing that today?) and I shushed him, but hastily moved on to another cabin. This one was on the other side of the black cabin, and seemed to be tilted, as if to form a curve in the shape overall. This one seemed beaten-down, with brown peeling paint, and I saw lots of people inside through the window (I was looking at the back of the cabin). There was a stream running by the cabins on the opposite side, and on the other side was a large blue house and some random strawberry fields.

Corey grinned at me, again, and said, "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood!"

Also, Blondey was getting impatient.

Thanks for reading! I looked up iris' cabin, but there was no description available, so I made up my own. I hope it's okay, and if any of you know what it looks like, please tell me so I can edit it. Also, I promise I'll give Jerkface/Blondey/Mr. Annoyingface a name in the next chapter.