I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)

January 1969

Try as she might, Callie couldn't sleep a wink. She knew Kieran was, but she wasn't partial to anything of the horror variety.

After twisting and turning in her bed, she kicked off her purple comforters and sat crosslegged, back to the wooden wall of the cabin. She sighed once, then again, mind wandering.

What in Hades does fire have to do with Amanda? she thought. And why did it bother Megan so much.

It wasn't until 4:41, a good hour and forty minutes after walking into Cabin 13, that she realized she had misinterpreted what she had seen on the grey-eyed girl's face. What she had mistook for dismissiveness and curtness might have still been dismissive and curt, but there was fear as well. She played it off well with her devil-may-care attitude and sudden jump into the man's attractiveness, but, call her paranoid, it seemed too sudden. And they still needed to tell Chiron.

She couldn't risk leaving the cabin again for she and her cabin weren't on the best of terms with the harpies. They threatened with eating them. She wasn't sure if the threat was ever followed out, but she wasn't going to push it either.

But, she still couldn't sleep.

She groaned, kicked the bottom of the bunk above her and tried to think of something else, anything else. Even Amanda was sound asleep, snoring the hours away without any sign of distress.

She tried to think about something else, so her mind went to life before Camp. She hadn't been in Camp too long (not as long as many of the campers who lived here for years), but it had its pros and cons like anywhere else. It's isolation was a pro and con, it's diversity was a colossal pro, but it's aggressive sports and ban on all things pot and tripping was a con. Win some, lose some.

She did missed her friends, however. They were all older than her (ranging from one year to several), but the fun she had with them was crazy. Sweating and dancing at one of TJ's gigs, trying her hands at the drums at Kekipi's place with him laughing mercilessly at her failure and no sense of rhythm, lying around Lonnie's living room zonked out of their minds after an unreal party, surfing with all the guys at North Shore on O'ahu even though she lived at the next island of Moloka'i (the six of them would just travel after the late bell at Moloka'i High School in Kaunakakai to childhood home of O'ahu every Friday), traveling to Chicago the year before with the Youth International Party to host a radical Festival of Life at the Democratic National Convention which reacted havoc for an unreal eight days. Memories.

Gods, she missed them.

It wasn't as if traveling to New York wasn't in itself an adventure and it wasn't as if she hadn't made other friends (although, what were a few months to several years?). Callie had embraced the diversity, but had detested the unspoken discrimination among the campers. She couldn't force herself to turn a blind eye to how the majority of the white campers were unapologetically racist to anyone who had the slightest brown tint to their skin that didn't come from a tan. Even some Asian campers, some paler than the white ones, were subjected to backhanded whispers of "Jap". Even if they weren't a "Jap".

It frustrated her and she wasn't used to keeping so quiet about things that bothered her. However, she had learned quickly within her first week at camp that if you had something to say, you had better say it after already being pretty decent with a sword because there would be blood.

But, she never grew up thinking that you had to practically duel over someone's rights as a human being. Or whatever in Hades they were.

After a while, it only took Callie to think about one of her Tutu's lullabies for her to fall asleep finally.

He nani lua 'ole

Ku'u wehi o nâ lani

He kilohana 'oe

Na'u e pûlama mau

Ho'olu i ka poli e

Mehana i ke anu e

-break-

Thomas Moore considered himself unlucky.

We woke up, stretched, and bowed his head to begin his daily (however brief) devotional. Yes, one could shoot and fling every piece of evidence of the existence of Greek mythology, but he grew up a Southern Baptist. He believed in the Olympians and the Titans and his own father, but he still believed there was a Holy Trinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And nothing would shake his faith.

After muttering and "Amen" under his breath, he grabbed his white jacket from where it was hanging on his chair and tossed red, white, yellow, and black vials into one pocket and a bag of what looked like Mary Jane (but wasn't. It was more like powdered anesthesia that wouldn't blow you up if you had too much) into the other. Being the best at medicine and doctoring in the whole camp (more so than the Apollo cabin) came with tons of responsibility.

He tossed it over his shoulder and opened his drawer and pulled out a red and white checkered plaid shirt, blue jeans, and red socks just because. Still dressed in his pajamas, he opened his door with a determination to make it to the shower before the rest of his cabinmates got up.

The lights were still out and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. He lived for mornings like this, mornings when everything was quiet and it was still somewhat dark out. Even if he only had a few hours of sleep wasn't going to make him any less excited for the early hours.

He walked down the wooden floor to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He faced the bathroom that said "HERM" at the top and entered-

-just as a balloon filled with red paint dropped on his head.

"CACH!" a higher-pitched voice whispered and screeched seemingly at the same time. "Dear God, Thomas! What're'ya doin' here?"

"It's the guy's bathroom," he said automatically before closing his mouth immediately so no red paint would get in his mouth.. He frowned as if just getting the oddity of the situation. "Arnica, what are you doing in here?"

The daughter of Enyo looked confused for a good second before she burst into laughter causing the mirror to crack in spiderweb patterns. Thomas was concerned that she would cause it to shatter.

"Hynny yw yn stori," she said. "I was waiting for Larry and Lawrence, the haliwrs. Thinkin' they can try and make me think that I'm six feet under, like my bed's a coffin, and it smellin' all dirt, and that they can get away with it, makin' me think like I'm dead and buried? Jawch annwl eriôd!" She continued to curse in her Welsh tongue, clenching her walnut brown fists as if demonstrating what she would do to the magical red-headed twins once she saw them. Thomas didn't know. He didn't speak flippin' Welsh.

Thomas still stood, white jacket tossed over his shoulder now stained like it had seen bloody war. "Arnica, there is something seriously wrong with you."

Arnica shrugged, her tightly curled brown hair bouncing as it always did. Thomas noticed many things, and he always noticed that it didn't matter the situation, whether in Capture the Flag, wrestling, swordsmanship, scrubbing off the bloody and muddy bits off of armor getting the bloody and muddy bits on her, her hair was always perfect. If it wasn't for her being claimed by Enyo, Thomas would have instantly thought of her being Aphrodite's.

"Still, Tommy-boy, I am so sorry," she said, standing awkwardly like everything she planned went to ruin.

"I've gotta get that off of ya soon. In a few minutes, it'll redden and boil with welts."

Thomas stood in silence for a few seconds before repeating," There is something wrong with you."

"Whatever," she said. "I'll get ya to Angie. She'll fix you right up before anything more happens." She

walked up and grabbed Thomas' hand with a stronger grip than one would expect from a hand as delicate-looking as hers.

She stopped at the doorway for a second before sighing. "I'll be back to fix this. They deserve what's

comin' for 'em."

They walked to the yellow door that said MEIBOIA at the top. After a few sharp knocks and a few "I'll be a

while, just wait"s, Arnica leaned against the door with arms crossed.

It occurred to Thomas that he never truly had a conversation with her. He had made it a goal to have a

conversation with every member of the camp, every half-blood, every nature spirit, every satyr, just so he could tell his potential friends from potential enemies. His was a hard task, but if you're a better medic than the whole Apollo cabin, you need to know allergies and phobias and the names of who had them.

"So," Thomas started, desperately hoping that her first impression of him wouldn't stick in her memory as the boy in homemade gingham pajamas with red dripping from his hair down his arms trying to stand in some way while he was chilled to the bone. "What's your story?"

"What story?" she said. She was currently amusing herself with pulling down a kinky-curled hair down until it was taut before letting it go.

"Everyone has a story," Thomas said. "Some story about how you got to camp. I mean, Eric got here with his best friend who turned out to be a satyr, Callie stabbed a Scylla before getting here, Amanda got forced here by her dad directly, Liesl and Maria just happened near it since they got lost eating strawberries,..."

"Liesl and Maria Gaede are a couple of white bitches who think that they're entitled to the very jewelry off of Elizabeth Taylor's neck." She snorted briefly. "'Least they would if she didn't happen to be Jewish." She took in Thomas' startled expression and before he could defend them with some half-assed reason in her opinion, she continued. "I try to be nice, I really do. But it's hard when the two of them and so many others look at ya as if you've got raging herpes and cach all about ya and even acknowledgement of ya will get them infected."

"I wouldn't have said it in so many words," Thomas said, starting to scratch behind his neck like he needed to get underneath his skin in order to get the itch away. It just came all of a sudden and it hurt like hell.

"Oh." Arnica's eyes widened and she snapped her fingers together a few times in succession. The lights flickered and Thomas glanced at them worriedly. This wouldn't be the first time Arnica blew out the lights because she was excited and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "That crazy girl- Amanda, yes?- was here last night. She seemed pretty distressed."

Thomas felt his stomach turn, though he wasn't sure if it had to do with the fact that the paint was drying and the itch was worse or that he felt a little ownership over the nightmare dilemma. "Yeah? How much did you hear?"

Arnica gave him a look that said, "You-really-think-I-heard-nothing-with-all-that-screaming?" when the door opened.

"Hiya!" Angelica greeted them in all her usual enthusiasm. Her blonde hair hung down to her waist in waves. The hippie waved at both of them with a her ever-present smile before making a 'come in' gesture. So they did.

"She really did a number on you, didn't she Thomas? What a bummer, what a shame," she said. Thomas had never been in her room. It wasn't really his place; you didn't just go into some girl's room. But,in his opinion, he wasn't sure how the blonde girl could stand it. It was frilly and yellow with yellow frills all over. There were Beatles and Animals and the Monkees posters, but they all had a good deal of yellow within them. Angelica all dressed in yellow danced away to her yellow bookshelf filled top to bottom with recipe books, stories about Norse Mythology (you never know), and strange science fiction books in top condition.

While Angelica wasn't looking, Arnica plucked off J.G. Ballard's The Drowned World and shoved it in her back pocket. She ignored the look Thomas gave her.

"I've got it here." She held up a glass bottle filled with a yellow substance. She offered it to Thomas.

He took it and leaned it one way then the other. "Is this honey?" Thomas was mystified.

"This honey has some of the most powerful heating properties known to man." Angelica looked slightly offended.

"Sorry." Thomas always thought he had a high pain tolerance, but he was using everything within himself to not stop right here and scratch like there was no tomorrow. "So, AH!" He cut himself off as the itch spread. "Do I just rub this wherever?"

"That's the idea." Angelica smiled. "Better do it before the welts show up." She gave a knowing smile.

"Right on, Angie." Arnica grabbed Thomas' shirt sleeve and they headed out the room before Thomas could question why Angelica seemed to know about the prank. "Thanks."

"No problem," Angelica said as Arnica closed the door behind them.

"Gotta hand it to her," Arnica started as they made their way to the boy's bathroom. "It's a flaw, but she does things without asking for anything in return. She's a cool head."

Thomas had already opened the door. "Have you done the red paint thing before?" She had to have if Angelica knew about it.

"I'll answer that once you tell me about the ruckus last night," was her response.

"And I'll tell you that," Thomas started, eyeing the worn paperback in her pocket, "once you tell me what the book's for."

"Get with the cleaning," Arnica said, pushing him in. "And, it's for Kieran. I expect my answers in due time."

Thomas watched as the door slammed in front of him without Arnica raising a finger. As he dipped his finger in the thick, sticky material. He grabbed a wash towel and turned on the cold water. He thought about how he would tell Chiron and Euterpe about the dream. Then, he thought about how he needed to tell Arnica before she split him open to get to his secret. Then, he thought about Arnica herself.

Shit, there is something wrong with that girl.

-break-

Kieran was reading Rosemary's Baby in the beautiful apricity of a January morning when a conch shell fell from the sky.

It fell a foot away from him causing quite the small explosion. Kieran took his eye off the smoking Strombus to look worriedly at the sky in a desperate hope that nothing would plummet and kill him. After thirty or so seconds he cautiously looked back at the object anticipating (however half-heartedly) that some space invader would walk out and bequeath to him the knowledge or power of a dying planet. If it happened to Hal Jordan, it could happen to him.

In a world where the Greek Gods were alive and kicking, anything could happen.

He dog-eared the page he was on and closed it. Reaching out to the shell, he was taken aback at it's lack of heat. If it fell at hell-he-knows miles per hour, it should be scorching the air surrounding it for several feet, at least.

Convincing himself that nothing was wrong with it and no one would come out and bite his hand, he snatched the strangely orange patterned object and brought it nearer for closer inspection.

"You fell from the sky," he whispered to it. He wondered if it was a lamp and brushed his thumb across the sooty surface. "You fell from the sky in front of me. That's gotta count for something."

He held the shell up to his ear and listened. He knew that you didn't turley hear the sound of the ocean in a conch shell- or any shell for that matter; it was all a matter of the surrounding environment's sound resonating with the conch cavity, so what he heard knocked his socks off his sockless feet right off.

He stood up in an instant so quickly he almost fell back down.

He needed to tell Chiron. Hell, even Euterpe would work.

Someone was going to die.

OK, I'll be honest… this was nothing but filler.

Although it's hardly an excuse, I'm in this thing called 'Magnet' at our school which means nothing except we have to do hella work compared to so many other people. Hella work equals no time to live.

Esp. AP Environmental Science. Fuck that class.

Anyway, Euterpe didn't make an appearance. She's more plot and this was more filler and I couldn't find a way to work it out.

To those people who submitted characters that haven't gotten their own spotlight, no fear!

And, reviews (good AND bad) would be extremely appreciated. I haven't been updating really frequently, but when I do, I'd like to know your thoughts on it so I can improve (and kudos to those who reviewed. It made my heart smile!)

But, yeah, any questions or anything. Fire away.

And, I'm not sure if this helps is just a fanfic writer thing, but I listened to Vision Vision by the Loyal Divide and Remember Execute Forget by Nine Leaves and Conquest of Spaces by Woodkid while writing this thing. You folks should listen to them, even if they weren't made in the 60s.

Til next time!