Usually, when girls looked at me, they saw a bad-boy type guy. I had never had any girl look at me and think 'idiot.'

Sometimes, when they came up to actually meet me, they'd say stuff like, "I saw what you did earlier to that jerk," or "So, I've been meaning to introduce myself," or "I don't think we've met before," or even "Hiya hot stuff, what's happening?"

I've never, in all my days, have had a girl tell me that I drool in my sleep.

Then again, I don't think I took any true offense to the comment, as it implied that she had watched me sleep before.

Now that was something to think about.

Chapter Five

Riker had always had the strangest dreams ever, but these ones really just took the cake. Usually in his dreams, he was always on the hunt for something, on a mission, and the only thing he could focus on was completing it through any means, including taping a half cooked chicken leg to a broken clock. Yeah, don't ask. Even he didn't understand that one. He'd stood in the kitchen wearing his leather jacket, except it was a dark purple instead of black, and had a yellow insignia of a centaur wearing hair-curlers. He was watching his mother cook a Thanksgiving meal while he was reading aloud from the book Fifty Shades of Gray(that had been what clued him in on the fact that it was a dream, as he would never actually admit to his mother that he'd read the book she'd found under his bed. He'd very quickly pointed to Gabe on that one). Then, when his mother was halfway done with cooking the meal, she took everything out and set it on the table and poured ice into the gravy. After that, Riker went over to the living room to turn on the TV and sat down on the floor lotus style before it, seemingly very interested in the five o'clock news. Gabe sat in the recliner behind him, giving a loud, nicely formulated yet critical review of the story of Romeo and Juliet, while he listened to the audio of Shakespeare's collected works through a pair of headphones. Sally walked over, tapped Riker on the head, and then began doing the Lindy Hop as she made her way to the door, which was ringing like a telephone. She opened it and welcomed in a variety of barnyard animals. Riker then felt that he had to do something very important, and that it mattered very much to him. He'd watched his dream self get up and walk over to the table of food with a determined face, rip the half-cooked turkey in half, and duct tape it to the very large grandfather clock that read midnight, even though he could clearly see the sun overhead through the window. He turned around, then, and began to play gladiator with half of their barnyard animal guests, while the rest of them went over to the table and made a mess out of the meal.

Riker was seriously confused about that one when he'd woken up for the first time since the night he'd fought the Minotaur, but the only thing he had been able to focus on was the fact that they didn't have a broken grandfather clock in their apartment.

Afterwards, he'd woken up several more times, but always fell asleep again before anything registered in his mind. Then, he'd remembered lying in a soft bed with smooth sheets covering him, being spoon fed some sort of pudding that tasted like buttered popcorn. He'd be the first one to admit that that taste and texture paired together was fucking weird. There was a girl with curly blond hair hovering over him, holding a bowl of the stuff. When she noticed that his eyes were open, she leaned forward even more, and Riker raised an eyebrow.

"What will happen at the summer solstice?" She asked him.

Raiser blinker. "That? Well, most sweltering day of the years, so it's gonna be hot. I'd suggest wearing a swimsuit and going for a swim on the beach. Work on that tan of yours—which is very nice, by the way—"

"No, that's not— " She narrowed her eyes at him, then glanced around as if she was worried there was someone listening in. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I've stolen a lot of things," Riker admitted, voice dramatic, "many of which were young girls' hearts, but—"

There was a sound near the door, and the girl glared at him, quickly forcing his mouth full of the popcorn pudding. "Nevermind."

The next time he woke up, she was gone.

Instead, a husky blond dude stood in the corner. He looked, for all the world, like a surfer, and would have been pretty good-looking with those blue eyes he had. But it was the blue eyes, also, that put Riker off. As in, multiple eyes, not just two? All over his body, his cheeks, his forehead, he even saw some scattered on his bare forearms. The guy didn't say anything, just stood by his bed and kept watch over him.

Then, when Riker finally came around, there wasn't anything really strange about his surroundings. He was in a room with white walls. A fan lazily spun on the ceiling and the window was open to let in bright sunshine and a soft breeze. He heard the distant laughter, like at a sport game but not as intense. He heard kids shouting at each other, but the voices were too far off to understand the words. The sound of birds chirping was only disrupted by the tell-tale noise of someone hitting a ball back and forth. The was a blanket over his legs and a pillow under his head. All that was great, but it felt like he'd swallowed a cigarette lighter. That had been lighted. His tongue was dry and every one of his teeth ached, like after that one dentist appointment that Riker would rather not be remembering right now.

There was a tall glass of what looked like liquid topaz sitting next to him, ice cubes gentle sloshing around. A green straw was stuck through the barricade of frozen water, and a small maraschino cherry was plopped right underneath them.

Riker reached over for it. His grip was so loose the cool glass almost slipped through his fingers.

"Careful." A familiar voice said.

Riker blinked, then brought the glass down to balance on his knee. He glanced up to see someone he hadn't noticed was in the room. "Goat-boy?"

Grover's eyebrow twitched. "My name's Grover, Percy."

Riker blinked again, before giving the teen a grin. "Mhm. And my name is Riker. You call me that, I'll call you Grover, dear stalker."

Still, Riker looked closer. Grover was leaning against the wall, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. There were dark bags under his eyes and his clothes were wrinkled in places The orange shirt that read "Camp half-Blood," with a pegasus insignia on the front was half-tucked into faded blue jeans, and his red converse sneakers were barely even tied. He had a long, twisted object wrapped in white cloth tucked under one arm. "Not that I care, dude, but are you okay? You look like shit."

Grover let out that bleating laugh, and Riker suddenly remembered what had happened that night.

But still, before him stood Grover. Not goat-boy-Grover, just plain old creepy-stalker-Grover.

So maybe what had happened during that midnight storm was only one of his weird, messed up dreams. His mother was fine. They were still on vacation, and they'd just stopped by this big white farmhouse because Grover lived here during the summer. Riker remembered that card the guy had given him after the last day of school. It had read Long Island. So maybe...

"You saved my life," Grover said, instead. "I... well—the least I could do... I went back down to the car to get your suitcase and stuff, and I also went out to the front and looked around until I found... it. I thought you might want..." He trailed off and paused, before the teen the wrapped tree branch-like object. Riker stared at it for a moment, before slowly peeling back the cloth.

It was a black and white bull's horn, but larger than life and twisted in a menacing way. The bottom was jagged, like it had been snapped right off the skull...

It hadn't been a nightmare.

Riker let out a forced breath and fall back in the bed, one hand gripping the severed horn and the other holding up his drink so it wouldn't spill. He wasn't even sure what it was, but it looked good.

"The Minotaur," though. That was what was going through his head.

"Um, Riker, it isn't a good idea to—"

"That's what they called him in the myths," Riker told him, remembering what his mother had said about saying the names. They held power, somehow. Would saying it's name bring it to you? He shook his head. "Pasiphae's kid. Half man, half bull. I don't even want to know what creep that girl got down with to have a son like him."

Grover shifted on his feet—or, hooves, now—uneasily. "You've been unconscious for an entire day—it's really early in the morning now. We'd thought you would have been out longer, but it looks like you have high endurance."

"Unlike you," Riker spoke up flippantly as he sat up again. "Who was out cold after hitting your head on the headrest of the passengers seat."

Grover stared down at his sneakers, "I-I'm sor—"

"I mean, I went flying through the windshield, dude! And then I got right up and ran for an entire half-a-mile before riding a bull like a rodeo cowboy!" Riker sucked in a breath, before looking down into his lap. He brought to straw to his lips and took a sip of the topaz-colored drink.

There was a beat of silence, before Grover spoke up again, in a low voice. "I'm really sorry, Riker. Really. It's all my fault—"

"Nah," Riker told him, voice resigned. "No, it was mine."

Grover looked up. "H-How much do you remember?"

Riker glanced over at the other teen. Grover was fidgeting with the cloth wrappings that had held the Minotaur's horn. "My mom. Grover, she's really...?"

Grover sucked in a deep breath, before hunching his shoulders and looking down at his feet again. That was all Riker needed. He looked back toward the window and suddenly felt the urge to curse the sunny day. His mom was gone, it should be black and cold.

Just like the rain clouds that night. The weather really was out for his head.

"I'm-I'm sorry." Grover sniffed, looking up with teary eyes. "I'm such a failure—I'm the worst satyr ever—"

He kicked the wall so hard his foot came off—well, the sneaker did, Grover looked down and mumbled a curse in Greek before reaching down to toss it across the room. He pulled off the other shoe and did that same with that. Riker was silent throughout this.

He was thinking. His mother was gone. Squeezed into nothingness and vanishing in a yellow light. He felt miserable, even more than that time he'd gotten nicked by a blade in a gang fight he'd accidentally been caught up in and had to hide the wound form his mother for a week until it healed somewhat. He was alone, his mother was gone.

He'd have to go home, though. Sometimes. He'd have to live with... that bastard? If so, Riker was almost certain that Gabe would be found mysteriously dead within the first week, a month if Riker was a patient as his mother taught him. With luck, they'd never even have to search for the body, as the son would only report him missing.

Yes, a sound plan indeed.

Still, maybe it would never happen. He'd live in the alleys first, maybe group up with his nighttime buddied for good. He had enough street smarts to survive, and plenty of stashed-away arsenal to keep them all alive fr a good amount of time.

"It still wasn't your fault." Riker heard himself saying. The hell, was he being nice? Nu uh. It wasn't possible. He had some hidden motive he didn't know of, yet. He'd find out soon, though...

And his Dementophobia was acting up again, thanks to his analysis of his own words. Shut up, brain.

He took another sip of the drink even as Grover went on to gripe and moan about how it was his fault, it had been his job to protect Riker, he was such a failure—which Riker found himself ignoring in favor of the taste of the topaz-tinted liquid. He'd expected it to be icy cold and taste like some sort of fruit punch mixed with badly-hidden medicine, but it wasn't. It was warm in the most pleasant of ways, and tasted like the chocolate chip cookies his mother would always make him.

He suddenly felt like his mother had just given him a hug. And had told him that everything would be okay—and then it was gone again. But he didn't let that deter him. He felt energized for the first time in days.

Without even noticing, Riker drained th glass dry. He stared down at the ice cubes as he popped the cherry into his mouth and wondered about that. He'd been sure it was a warm drink, but the ice cubes looked like they hadn't even melted, lying at the bottom of his glass. Riker tossed the straw aside and began crunching the ice like he always did when he had pop at a fast-food place. He knew it wasn't good for his teeth, but it was a better addiction than cigarettes, which one of his street-pals had once offered.

"Was it good?" Grover asked, looking at the slowly vanishing cubes of ice. He could hear the crunching sound that came from Riker's mouth from all the way by the window.

Riker just nodded.

"What did it taste like?" Grover asked, with a glint in his eyes. Like he knew something Riker didn't and wasn't even thinking of telling him. Riker just nodded again, before swallowing the now crushed ice. "Cookies. Homemade. Mom-style."

Grover sighed. "And how are you feeling now?"

Riker cracked his stiff knuckles. "Like I could chuck you even farther than I did when I tossed your out of the Camaro."

The satyr looked up, startled. "You did what now?" He asked.

Riker just laughed brightly at him, fingers running over the side of the horn in his lap. But his eyes were a dull gray, like his mother's after she'd just finished crying.

"Come on," Grover said instead, turning around and making his way to the door. "Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The satyr dragged Riker's suit case into the room and Riker chose to go for something more simple than his regular outfit. He forewent a top and tugged on his mesh-shirt, slipping into black cargo-pants and his combat boots. He took out some shades, placed them over his eyes, then pulled on his leather jacket and followed Grover out of the room and down a set of stairs.

The porch actually wrapped all the way around the house, and as Riker let Grover lead him round to the back, he took a look around.

They must have been at the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile into the distance. The landscape was dotted with buildings that were modeled after ancient Greek architecture; an open-air pavilion, and amphitheater, a circular arena. They all looked bran-new, if only a little-lived in, with their white columns gleaming in the morning sun. down a ways away from the house, a group of high school-age teens were playing a game of volleyball. Canoes glided smoothly across the surface of a sparkling lake and there were kids in orange t-shirts everywhere, doing a variety of activities situated around a cluster of twelve cabins in the middle of the valley. There was an archery course and Riker vaguely spotted a group of people riding winged horses down a wooded path.

They'd reached the other side of the house now, where two men sat at a card table playing against each other. There was the blond-haired girl from before—the one who'd fed him that popcorn pudding—Annabeth, leaning against the railing and watching the game.

The man facing Riker was somewhat short and a bit pudgy. He had curly black hair, big watery eyes and a small red nose. He reminded the teen of a cherubs that had grown middle-aged in a trailer park, living off hamburgers and soda pop. He was wearing a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt and dark blue shorts. He would fit snuggly into one of Gabe's poker parties—except, Riker felt that the guy could out-gamble even his bastard step-father(who wasn't even a good player anyway).

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to him. "He's the camp director, so be polite, okay? The girl next to him is—"

"Annabeth," Riker yawned. "Yeah I know. I've met her before, vaguely."

Grover looked back at him with a strange look on his face, but shrugged and kept walking forward. "And I guess you already know Chiron, too." He pointed at the man who had his back to them, the one sitting in the wheel-chair. Riker already knew who it was the moment he laid eyes on him. His Latin teacher.

"Yo, teach!" Riker called out then, stepping ahead of Grover who had decided to be a wimp and falter when the director's eyes zeroed in on them. The man in the wheelchair turned around and graced them with a smile. His eyes held that gleam he got when he pulled a trick on the class and had made all the multiple choice answers C.

"Hello, Riker!" Chiron greeted him. "Ah, now we have enough for a game of pinochle."

He offered Riker a chair in front of Mr. D, who just looked at the teen with blood-shot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There, now don't expect me to be glad to see you."

Riker was used to porky guys who had attitude, so he only spun his chair around until it faced him and sat in it backwards with the back against his stomach, arms resting on the edge. A typical cool-guy pose. He flashed the man a grin. "Oh, there's tons of people who aren't glad to see Riker Jackson. Although, I don't recall doing anything to garner that reaction form you."

Still, Riker knew this guy's type. If the director was a stranger to alcohol, then Riker was goody-two-shoes nerd who loved the color pink and whose favorite food was broccoli.

Chiron looked over at Annabeth and raised an eyebrow. "Well, my girl?"

The girl stepped forward and stared neutrally at Riker, who flashed her a grin. "'Allo, Annie-girl. So nice to see you again."

Chiron and the girl graced him with a surprised look, but then Annabeth glared at him. "How do you know my name? I've never even introduced myself."

Riker leaned back and spread his arms wide. "What can I say? I'm observant. I caught your name before I passed out on the porch the night before last, and I already know Chiron form when I eavesdropped on him and goat-boy over there back in school, before exams."

Chiron's eyes flew open, and he shot a look toward Grover, who twisted his cap in his hands. "I'm sorry, sir! I didn't know until he told me on the Greyhound home."

Annabeth stared coldly at Riker, who just crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward again. "Doesn't matter now, anyway. What I wanna know is why Annie-girl over there was spoon-feeding me popcorn pudding."

Suddenly Annabeth's glare was gone and she glowered over across the lake with a red tint in her cheeks. She looked like your typical Californian girl with long, curly blond hair and a nice tan, but her eyes just ruined the image. They were a contrasting gray, with some silver flecks near the pupils. She wore the same orange shirt that Grover and the rest of the campers wore, and faded jean shorts with dark blue flip-flops—Riker hated flip-flops. They were so damn annoying.

Then she glanced back and her gaze settled on the Minotaur horn that Riker hadn't really noticed he'd brought along, which was set on the empty chair next to him. He tilted his head and waited for her to spit out whatever answer she'd came up with.

"You drool in your sleep," she said, and Riker just stared at her.

Then, he broke out laughing, hard. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and cracked up, eyes light blue and sparkling like his mom's had whenever she had watched a good comedy with him. Annabeth narrowed her eyes and looked away again, blushing once more, like she realized how lame the comeback had been.

"Oh!" Riker cackled. "I like you! Ha ha ha..." He leaned back and braced his arms behind his head, blinking over at Chiron. "So, what's happening old man?"

"Annabeth nursed you back to health, Mr. Jackson," Chiron told him sternly. "You should at least show her some thanks, yes?"

Riker glanced over at a still-scowling Annabeth, and blinked. "Yeah, thanks."

She just glared at him.

Chiron let out a sigh. "My dear girl, why don't you go check on Riker's bunk? We'll be putting him in Cabin Eleven for now."

She let out a huff, before turning away from the group. "Sure, Chiron."

And then she was sprinting off down the lawn, blond curls flying behind her. Riker felt like he was in some cheesy teen-girl movie.

He glanced back over at Chiron. "So I had the famous Chiron as my Latin teacher, huh?"

Chiron smiled back over at him, eyes crinkling. "Ah, yes. It was a house-visit. I'm afraid. I don't do many of those nowadays. Mr. Brunner was, of course, a pseudonym."

"Gotcha," Riker flashed him a quick grin, before looking over at the director. "And Mr. D—that's definitely stands for something; but," he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "Names, power—all that. I get it. You're probably some big shot 'myth' or something."

Then he eyed Mr. D, who was blinking at him with some veiled surprise. "Although, I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be just a regular trailer-park guy. Then, it would be my mistake."

"That is true," the director said, most likely decided to ignore that last part for now, even though Riker could tell he was irritated. "Names are powerful things, and you shouldn't go around using them for no reason."

"I must say that I am quite glad to see you alive, Riker," Chiron spoke up, shuffling the deck of cards.

"Well, gee. Thanks."

"It has been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper," he explained, eyes twinkling, "I'd hate to think I had waisted my time."

"Yeah," Riker mumbled, thinking. He'd meant to ask about that. "House, call—you mentioned that before. What didja mean?"

"My year at Yancy Academy." the man said, as if it should be obvious, even though Riker had never lived at school—he shuddered at the memories of boarding houses. Never again. "To instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping watch. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He claimed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate and check on you myself. I convinced the other Latin teacher to.. ah, take a leave of absence."

Riker shot up in his seat, eyebrows high and a grin threatening to split his face. "Wait, you offed him?" Maybe this guy was cooler than he thought!

Chiron gave him a stern stare. "Of course not, boy. He was an innocent mortal, why would I do that?"

Riker shrugged, excitement diminished, and leaned back once more. "So you came to Yancy just to teach little old me?"

Chiron sighed, then nodded. "I wasn't sure about you at first, but we contacted your mother. I made sure she knew we were watching you to see if you were ready to come to camp or not. You still had so much to learn, but it seems you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"It's summer," Riker groaned. "Those are supposed to be boycotted until orientation or entrance exams!" But he felt vaguely angry. His mother had been taken from him in a stupid test, real life emergency or no.

"Grover," Mr. D snapped. "Are you playing or not?"

"Yes sir!" Grover let out a yelp form where he'd been standing silently behind Riker the entire time. He quickly slipped into the empty seat and moved the Minotaur horn to the porch floor. Riker wanted to poke fun at him about how he was afraid of a pudgy short man in an animal-print shirt, but Mr. D was addressing him now.

"You do know how to play pinochle, right?"

"Of course I do," Riker snorted. "Who do you take me for, a moron?" He'd had a buddy back at the gymnasts club he was in one summer who had a strange obsession with the game. He'd taught Riker up to the point were the teen was undefeated—but that had been back when he was nine, and his skills were a little rusty.

"Good, good," the director eyed him within a new light. "It is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect a civilized young man to know the rules."

"Well," Riker started thoughtfully, "I ain't no civilized young man, but I guess I could give you a good game." He leveled a challenging stare at Mr. D, who returned it in full force. Riker had forgotten how competitive he got when pinochle was involved.

"We shall see." Was all the guy said in reply.

Challenge insinuated, Riker then turned to Chiron. "Why would you come to Yancy just for me?"

"I asked the same question," Mr. D snorted, dealing out the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

"Am I somehow different than these other campers?" Riker gestured out towards the valley, indicating the busy teens and children. It would be just his luck to, to end up being the weird one in a camp like this.

"Did your mother tell you anything?" Chiron asked sympathetically, and Riker frowned. There goes the pity again.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Told me she didn't want to send me here. That once I was here, I couldn't leave. That she wanted to keep me with her. Right before she was squeezed into golden light and nothingness by that jackass freak of a monster."

"Hm," Mr. D hummed. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." Riker rolled his eyed. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch, I'm getting there."

"I'm afraid there's too much to tel." Chiron sighed. "And in this situation, I don't believe our usual orientation film would suffice."

"Or you can just let me guess," Riker slapped a card down on the table and drew from the open deck. Mr. D sent him a scathing look and threw his hand down. Riker collected them with a snicker as the man drew another hand. "Here's what I've gathered. Greek myths; real—or most of them at least. I fought the son of Pasiphae the night before last, your pen can turn into a sword, those cabins down there, for the campers," he pointed across the lawn, "most likely symbolize the twelve in the Olympian council and, judging by how those guys down there haven't missed a single hoop on the basketball court since I came down here, the campers are blessed by whatever god or goddesses cabin they are in, or something similar." He looked up from his hand and slid on bad card forward, hoping one of them would take the bait. "Well?"

Chiron and Grover just stared at him, and Mr. D slowly slid out a hand to snatch up the card from Riker. He glanced down at it, and cursed. Riker grinned.

"That..." Chiron cleared his throat. "Was correct, Mr. Jackson. Mostly. The campers are not blessed by the god or goddess their cabin represents—well, not most of them. They are actually the children of those Olympians."

Riker ran through his deductions again, then nodded. "Right. So I guess—since I'm one of these campers now—that they're demigods or the such. One mortal parent and one godly."

"Smart boy." Mr. D eyed him suspiciously as he tallied up the points for a royal marriage. "Perhaps Athena, then."

"The looks don't match," Chiron told him and he made a move to counter Mr. D's. Riker, though, had them both right where we wanted them."

"I'm surprised by you, Riker." The ex-Latin teacher continued, as Riker made his own move. A feint, if you would. "You did not show such intelligence when you were in my class."

"I procrastinate in school." Riker yawned and waited for the director to make a move. His eyes were flitting between two cards, indecisive. "Part of it is being too lazy, the other part is that I don't wanna seem like a nerd. My image is a big part of my life, I don't wanna go around ruining it."

"Ah," Chiron nodded. "I see. Well, I do hope you will not feel the need to hide your knowledge here at camp, my boy. We are all family here."

"Yeah," Riker huffed, sarcastically. "Big, happy. I can literally feel the love."

"Mr D," Grover began nervously, fidgeting. "um, if you're not going to eat it, can I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Hm? Oh, alright."

The satyr took a great bite out of the aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. Riker made a face. He'd eaten plenty of things before, including rocks, wall plater and Styrofoam, most of which were on dares. He'd never tried metal—aside form a penny someone had once forced down his throat—but he didn't think they would be easy to chew. Grover must have had more goat in him that Riker realized.

The way Grover was minding his cards, though, dutifully chewing on his can and keeping his mouth shut. It made Riker think. Why was the goat-boy being so respectful to the director. He quickly ran though all the myths that he knew well enough. What god or goddess did the satyrs or nymphs refer to, other than Zeus? And, taking into account the tiger-print shirt, and the fact that he'd filled a conjured goblet with what had looked like grape juice before vanishing it miserably and bringing up a Diet Coke instead...

"I get it now." Riker spoke up, handing in another card that made Chiron wince and set down his own hand in defeat. "You're the God of Wine. Mr. D. D for..." He grinned at Chiron's raised eyebrows, and was inwardly surprised at the quick smirk the director sent toward him.

"That is also correct. My, if you aren't a spawn of Athena, I would be honestly startled. But alas, your image ruins that idea." He slapped a card on the table and shot him a superior look. Riker glanced down and smirked, drawing a card form the deck instead and laying down a certain assortment of three. The man scowled.

"I could look like my dad." Riker suggested—even though he knew that was false. He looked like his mom, with a face structure of his dad.

"Ah, but you're mother is Sally Jackson," Chiron reminded him, and Riker twisted his torso around, cracking his spine. He shot the ancient centaur a dark look. "Let's speak about, hm, some other topic. Get me?"

Chiron and Mr. D backed down and the continued the game. Grover had been eliminated long before.

"A lucky thing you are so observant," Mr. D mumbled, however. "Bad enough, working in this miserably place, much less with boys who don't even believe."

Riker raised an eyebrow. "That's right. You're the director. You have to deal with all these brats?" He thought back to Annie-girl and her snooty attitude.

Dionysus—cuz that was who the director was—waved a hand. Another goblet, like form before, appeared and filled itself with red wine. Chiron gave the god a stern look. "Mr. D, your restrictions!"

Riker suppressed a smile as the director looked down at the goblet with feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked up at the sky and hollered. "Sorry! Old habits!"

Thunder rumbled across the clear skied. Riker ignored the out-of-whack and illogic weather. He'd gotten used to it by now. Dionysus waved his hand again, and the goblet was replaced by another can of Diet Coke. He popped the top and let out a unhappy sigh before taking a long draw.

Chiron gave Riker a wink. "Mr. D offended his father a while back. Took a fancy to a wood-nymph who had been declared off-limits."

A wood-nymph." Riker raised an eyebrow. Didn't Dionysus have a wife up in Olympus or something. But then again, here were demigods who were most likely children of Apollo and Hermes and Ares. Then there was Aphrodite, he though, spying a group of rather attractive girls near the lakeside—and wasn't she married to Hephaestus. Riker wasn't fond of cheaters, but he didn't think he could really march up to the immortals and give them a lesson in loyalty or anything, so he let the matter drop for now.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, prohibition. Ghastly! An absolutely horrid ten years. The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I just couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. A summer camp for brats like," he eyed Riker for a second before going on," that Annie-girl who was here earlier—"

Chiron looked up from his cards and blinked, looking between Mr. D and Riker for a moment, before going back to his cards with a pondering look on his face.

Mr. D leaned over the table, scrutinizing the cards closely. "I believe I win."

"Not exactly, Mr. D," Chiron said as he lay down his own hand and tallied the points while Riker watched them both with a mischievous grin. "I believe the game goes to me."

"Actually, boys," Riker drawled lazily as they both turned to him with a raised eyebrow. He smirked and set down a full house, having already mentally added up the points. "I'm quite certain that I am the victor in this match."

They both stared down at the hand he held out to show them, neither bothering to keep the stunned looks off their faces, and Grover had even stopped mid-chew, the aluminum in his mouth hanging out slightly while his eyes bulged.

"But—how?! Nobody's beaten Chiron!" Grover exclaimed. "Never!" Dionysus just nodded a bit numbly.

Riker leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the back. "Ah-ah. But that was before I came along, wasn't it?" His blue eyes twinkled.

Mr. D stood up, and Grover got up as well. "I'm quite tired." The god said without emotion. "I believe I will take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less than perfect performance."

"Y-Yes sir." Grover said, his forehead beaded with sweat. Riker blinked and turned his head to look out over at the volley-ball game. It looked like the left-side team was wining.

"Cabin Eleven, Riker Jackson—"

"Riker Adley Jackson, my wine-loving friend." Riker blinked slowly, giving the man a lazy smile.

The god sneered halfheartedly. "Of course. Remember to mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse and Grover followed behind him, twisting his cap nervously.

"Grover will be alright, Riker." Chiron said, though his words were unneeded. "Old Dionysus isn't really angry. He just hates his job. He's been... ah, grounded, I suppose you could say, and just can't stand to wait another century until he's allowed back on Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," Riker nodded. "No, is it still on the one in Greece—like, do the gods and such have jurisdiction on the entirety of the world and free reign, or are they situated in America now?"

"Yes," Chiron said, once again pleasantly surprised. Riker just shrugged—no one could say he'd never studied for any tests. "There is a Mount Olympus in Greece, and then there is Mount Olympus, palace and home to most of the Greek pantheon. And, you are correct. They are in America now. They follow the heart of the West."'

"Western Civilization?"

"Indeed. Did you think it is an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that had burned brightly for thousands of years. The gods are a part of it. You could even say, they are the heart of it—or, at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they cannot possibly fade, unless the entirety of the Western Civilization were to be obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then it moved to Rome, and so on, and so on."

"Didn't it go to Egypt or something after that?" Riker asked thoughtfully.

"Oh, for a short time, but it wasn't very long. Wherever the flame was brightest. They spent several centuries in England—"

"Which is why you have an accent," Riker snickered.

"—all you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years. They've been in paintings, sculptures, the most important buildings. Look at America's symbol, the sacred eagle of Zeus, or the statue of Prometheus in Rockfeller Center. The Greek facades of the government buildings in Washington. I doubt you will find a single city without the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. America is now the heart of the flame. It's the great power of the West. And so, Olympus is here, and we are here."

Riker stared at the man incredulously. "Did you just give me a lecture?"

Chiron paused. "Hm. It seems so."

"Dude, it's summer! Boycotting, remember? Did you remember any of that?!"

"For now," Chiron continued, as if he just hadn't heard him, and Riker huffed, "we should get you a bunk in Cabin Eleven—"

"I thought Annie-girl was checking on that?" Riker asked, eyes glittering. Chiron paused, then smiled sheepishly as he was caught trying to change the subject.

"Still, there will be new friends for you to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the camp fire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

"Sure, sure, old man." Riker waved his hands in the air. "Let's go feed your addiction, why don't we." They both stood up from the table—and Chiron really did stand up. Right out of the wheelchair, and his legs did movie. Instead, his waist just kept growing, longer and longer. Riker waited patiently and the body of a white stallion emerged from the most likely magical chair and decided against questioning

the centaur on how he could fit his whole ass into that little, tiny space...

"What a relief," the horse-man stretched. "I'd been couped up in there for so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep."

He turned to Riker, who raised an eyebrow at him, and grinned cheerfully. "Come, now, Mr. Jackosn. Let's meet the rest of the camp."

So, I'm sorry? I know we aren't at the exciting parts yet—aside from Riker's awesome fight with Mini-Minotaur-taur—and that nothing has been changed too drastically, but they're coming, believe me. *rubs hands together* I has a lot planned for this.

Thanks for reading, and please review!

~Scylar X.