The Bathroom Lord

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, Rick Riordon does. I don't own anything.

After I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was half horse, he gave me a tour of camp. I was careful, though, to stay in front or beside Chiron; I'm sorry, but I did not trust his rear end like I trusted his front.

As we passed the volleyball pit, campers stopped what they were doing. One even pointed to the shoebox I was carrying with the Minotaur horn it. Another said, "Look, that's her."

Most of the campers were older than me and their satyr friends were bigger than Grover. They were wearing the CAMP HALF-BLOOD shirts and nothing to cover their furry hindquarters. Normally, I was not a shy person, ask anyone. This—though—this made me uncomfortable, like they were expecting me to do some kind of complex gymnastics move.

I turned around to look at the farmhouse. It was big, bigger than I first thought; four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale coastal resort. I was looking at the brass eagle when something caught my eye, a shadow in the window of the attic. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I felt like I was being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

His eyes drifted to where I was pointing, and his smile faded, "Just the attic."

"Does somebody live there?"

"No," he said, "not a single living thing."

I felt like he was being truthful, but I could bet that I saw something move that curtain.

"Come along, now, Pelagia," his cheerful tone was now forced. "Lots to see."

We walked the strawberry fields, where campers were picking delicious looking mountains of berries while a satyr sat on a boulder nearby, playing a tune on his reed pipes.

Chiron told me how the camp grew a nice crop for New York City restaurants and Mount Olympus, "It pays our expenses," he said. "And the strawberries take little to no effort at all."

He explained how Mr. D had this effect on fruit bearing plants; they just went nuts when he was near. It worked best with wine grapes, but since Mr. D was restricted from growing those, they grew strawberries instead.

As I watched the satyr play his reed pipes, I realized that the music was making bugs fly away from the strawberries, like refugees fleeing a fire. Maybe Grover could do that with his reed pipes. Was he still inside, getting chewed out by Mr. D?

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked. "He was a good protector. Really."

Chiron sighed and took off his jacket, draping it over his horse half like a saddle, "Pelagia, Grover has big dreams. Maybe bigger than are sensible. To reach his target, he must first demonstrate great bravery by succeeding as a keeper; finding a new camper and bringing them to safely to Camp Half-Blood."

"Be he did do that!"

"I know," Chiron agreed, "but it's not my place to judge. I do not decide, that's Dionysus and the Cloven Elders job. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then, there's the…uh…unfortunate fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was cataleptic when you dragged him over the property line. They might question whether this shows any bravery on Grover's part."

I wanted to object, none of what happened was Grover's fault. And I also felt extremely remorseful for leaving Grover at the terminal, maybe he wouldn't have gotten in as much trouble if I stayed.

"He'll get a second chance, won't he, Chiron?"

Chiron visibly winced, "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, and the council was not particularly happy about giving him another one after what happened five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before he tried again. He's so small for his age."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty eight."

"What? No way! He's in Sixth Grade!"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Pelagia. Grover's been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"Oh, that's awful!"

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished in woodland magic."

"That's not fair," I said. "What occurred the first time? Was it really that bad?"

Chiron looked away rather quickly, "Let's move along, shall we."

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about my mom, as if he was purposefully avoiding the word 'death'. The start of an idea, a miniscule, optimistic fire, formed in my head.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods and Olympus is real…"

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean that the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened, "Yes." He paused, choosing his next words carefully, "There is a dwelling for the spirit to go after death, but, until we know more, I urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Pelagia. Let's go see the woods."

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. The woodland took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so thick and long that it seemed like no one had lived there since people first sailed to America.

"The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but it is wise to go armed," Chiron said.

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You will see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"What? My own?"

"No, I don't suppose you do. A size five will probably do. I'll visit the armory later."

Armory? I wanted to ask what kind of camp had an armory, but there were too many other things on my mind to think about. As the tour continued, we saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron most obviously hated), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena. (Chiron said they held sword and spear fights there.)

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked him.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he replied. "Not fatal…usually. Oh, yes, the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion, which was framed in by white Grecian columns, overlooking the sea. There were a dozen picnic tables, but no roof or walls.

"What happens when it rains?" I asked.

Chiron looked at me with an expression that suggested I had gone insane, "Well, we still have to eat, don't we."

With that, I let the subject drop.

At last, Chiron showed the cabins. Twelve cabins huddled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in the shape of a 'U', two at the base and five in a row at either side. And they were, without a doubt, the most unusual gathering of buildings I had ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a huge, brass number above the door (odds on the left side and evens on the right), they looked nothing alike. Cabin nine had smokestacks on it, like a tiny factory. Cabin four had tomato vines on the sides and the top was made of actual grass. Cabin seven seemed to be made out of solid gold, which shined so intense in the sun, you could barely look at it.

They all faced a common area about the size of a soccer field, it was dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops, which I liked.

In the center of the field was a huge, stone-lined fire pit. Even though it was a hot afternoon, the center burned. A girl, about nine, was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. I hope she doesn't get burned.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, cabin one and two, looked like his-and-hers burial chambers. Cabin one was the biggest, bulkiest of the twelve. Polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, giving the illusion that lightning bolts streaked across them. Cabin two was more elegant, with thinner columns decorated with flowers and pomegranates. The walls engraved with peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron answered.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several are. It's true, no one ever stays in one or two."

So, each cabin had a different god, like a mascot for a sports team. Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians, but why would some be empty?

I froze front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't tall and mighty like cabin one, but long, short, and firm. The outer walls were rough grey stone, dotted with parts of seashells and coral, as if the portions had been hewn straight from the ocean floor. I peered inside the doorway.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that." Chiron said.

Before he could pull me back, however, my nose filled with the scent of salt, like the wind on the beach at Montauk. The inner walls glowed like abalone, there were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down, but there was no sign that anyone had ever slept in the cabin. The place felt so depressed and isolated that I was glad when Chiron put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come along, Pelagia."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Cabin five was bright red, but the paint job was horrible, like someone splashed the color on with buckets and punches. The roof was lined with spiked cable and a stuffed wild boar's head hung over the entrance, and it's eyes seemed to monitor me. Inside I saw a bunch of mean looking kids, girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing while rock music boomed. The loudest was a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen; he wore a XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket and gave me a sneer when he saw me. He reminded me of Nick Bobofit, though this boy was much bigger and tougher looking, and his hair was longer, stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to steer clear of Chiron's' hooves.

"I haven't seen any other centaurs," I observed.

"No," Chiron replied melancholy. "My kinsmen are wild, barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might come across them in the wilderness or major sporting events. None here, though."

"You said your name was Chiron, are you really…"

He smiled down at me, "The Chiron from the stories? Instructor of Hercules and all that? Yes, Pelagia, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused like the question fascinated him, "I honestly don't know about should be, but the truth is I can't be. You see, ages ago, the gods granted my wish; I could continue the work I loved as long as humanity needed me. I gained much…and I also lost much from that wish. But I'm still here, so one can only assume I'm still needed."

Being a teacher for three thousand years definitely wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Does it ever get boring?" I inquired.

"No, no," Chiron replied, "absolutely depressing at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Anthony's waiting for us."

The blond boy I met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the final cabin on the left, cabin eleven.

When we reached him, he looked at me judgmentally, like he was still thinking of how much I drooled.

I looked at the book, to see what he was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. At first, I thought my dyslexia was acting up, but then I realized the title wasn't even English. That's weird. The letter's looked Greek to me. Literally, Greek. There were pictures of temples, sculptures, and diverse types of pillars, like the ones in architecture book.

"Anthony," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Pelagia from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven"—Chiron gestured towards the doorway of the cabin—"make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most normal. It looked ancient, though. The threshold was worn down and the brown paint was chipped and peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor symbols, a winged pole with two snakes intertwined around it.

The inside was overcrowded, immensely overcrowded. So many sleeping bags were spread all over that it looked like the Red Cross set up an evacuation center there.

Chiron didn't go in, the door was too low for him, but when the campers saw him, they all bowed respectfully.

Chiron then galloped away towards the archery range.

I stood at the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore, they were staring at me. Analyzing me. Sizing me up. I knew this routine; I've gone through it at plenty of schools.

"Go in," Anthony said.

So, I obviously tripped walking through the door, making a total fool of myself. I heard a few snickers in the back of the cabin, but no one said anything.

"Pelagia Jackson, cabin eleven," Anthony said.

"Regular or undetermined?" some kid asked.

I had no idea what they were talking about, but Anthony answered, "Undetermined."

The whole cabin groaned.

A girl older than the others, about nineteen, came forward looking at the campers of cabin eleven, "Now, come on, campers. That's what we're here for"—she then turned towards me—"Nice to meet you, Pelagia. You can have that spot on the floor over there."

The girl looked pretty cool. She was tall with long, sandy hair and a friendly smile. She wore an orange tank top, jean shorts, flip flops, and a leather necklace with five different color clay beads. The only thing unsettling about her appearance was that a scar from her right eye to her jaw, like a knife slash.

"This is Lucy," Anthony said, his tone was different. I turned around and saw him standing straight and his cheeks were tinged pink. When he saw me look, however, he glared at me, "She'll be your counselor, for now."

"What? For now?" I asked.

"You're undetermined," Lucy explained patiently. "They don't know which cabin to put you in, so you go here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers. We naturally would, Hermes is the god of travelers."

I stared at the tiny spot on the floor that was now my space, the only thing I had to mark my spot was my shoebox with the Minotaur's horn. I certainly wasn't going to put that down, Hermes was also the god of thieves.

I scanned the faces of the campers, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning, and others eyeing me as if they couldn't wait to have the chance to pick pocket me.

"How long will I be in here?" I asked.

"Fair question," Lucy replied. "Until you're determined."

"And how long will that take?"

The whole cabin laughed.

"Come on!" Anthony suddenly said. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've seen it already."

"Yeah, well, see it again!" He grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the laughing cabin.

When we were a few feet away, he stopped, "Jackson, you have to do better than that!"

"What?"

He rolled his eyes and muttered, "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"What is your problem?" I demanded. "The only thing I know is that I killed some bull-dude!"

"'Some bull-dude'," he scoffed. "Do you know how many kids wished they had your chance?"

"What chance? To die?"

"No! To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shook my head, "If the thing I really killed was the Minotaur, the same one from the stories…"

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"He died like a gazillion years ago; Theseus killed him in the labyrinth."

"Pelagia, monsters don't die. They can be killed, but they don't die."

"Yeah, thanks, that makes so much sense."

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dissipate them for a while, if you're lucky a whole lifetime. Nonetheless, they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. They will always reform, no matter what."

It made me think about Mrs. Dodds, "Like if I killed on, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Furr…I mean your math teacher. That's right, she's still out there. You just made her awfully livid."

"How do you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep, too."

"You almost called her something, a Fury. They're Hades torturers, right?"

Anthony scanned at the ground, like he anticipated it to swallow him up. "You should not call them by name, even here, at Camp Half-Blood. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we even speak of them at all."

"So, there is nothing I can saw without it thundering?" I demanded. I sounded whiny, even to myself, but I didn't care then. "And why do I have to stay in cabin eleven anyway? That place is overcrowded. Besides, there are plenty of empty cabins over there." I pointed to the first few cabins.

Anthony paled, "Look, you don't just choose a cabin, Pelagia. It depends on your parents…uh…parent." He stared at me, waiting for it to click in my head.

"My mom is Sally Jackson," I said. "She works at Grand Central Station…or…she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, but she's not who I mean. I mean your other parent, your father."

"He's dead, I never knew him."

Anthony exhaled, he, clearly, had this conversation with other kids, "Your father's not dead, Pelagia."

"What? How do you know that? You know him?"

"No, or course not."

"Then how do you—"

"Because I know you, and you wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Really," he raised his eyebrows and walked around me in circles. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

I kept spinning to face him, "How do you—"

He cut me off, "I bet you were diagnosed with dyslexia, probably ADHD, too."

I tried to swallow my mortification, "What does that have to do with anything?!"

"Taken together, it's almost an unquestionable sign. The letters float off of the page when you read, huh? That's because your brain is hardwired for ancient Greek, not English. And the ADHD—your impulsive, you can't sit still. That's your battle reflexes; they keep you alive in a fight. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, not too little. Of course teachers want you medicated; most of them are monsters who want you killed. They don't want you to see them for who they really are."

"You…you sound like you went through the same thing."

"A lot of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you wouldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar?"

"The food and beverage we gave you to feel better. That stuff would've destroyed an ordinary kid; it would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand. You'd be dead! Face it, you're a half-blood!"

A half-blood.

My mind was really, I had so many questions I didn't even know where to start.

I didn't have to ask a question, however, because a rough voice than yelled, "What do we have here? A newbie!"

I turned around and saw the big kid from the ugly red cabin sauntering over with three other big, nasty looking boys wearing camo jackets.

"Clark," Anthony sighed annoyed. "Why don't you go shine your spear or something?"

"Okay, Mister," the big boy replied. "So I can run you through it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Anthony growled, which I somehow understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded. "You don't stand a chance!"

"We'll demolish you," Clark said, but his eye twitched, like he wasn't certain he could follow through on the threat. He then turned to me, his eyes glaring, "Who's the runt?"

"Pelagia Jackson," Anthony said, gesturing to me and then to Clark. "Meet Clark, Son of Ares."

I blinked, "Like…the war god?"

"Got a problem with that, runt?" Clark demanded.

"No," I replied, recovering my wits. "Just explains the bad smell."

"We got an opening ritual for newbies, Lagia."

"PEH-lagia!"

"Who cares? Come, though, I'll show you it."

Anthony tried to intervene, "Clark—"

"Mind your business, wise guy."

Anthony looked pained, but he did stay out of it, and I was glad, I didn't want his help. I was the new kid; I had to earn my own rep.

I handed Anthony my shoebox and got ready to fight. Before I knew it, however, Clark had me by the neck and was pulling me in the direction of this cinder-block building that I instantly knew was the bathroom.

I was kick and punching, I had been in plenty of fights before, but Clark had iron hands. He dragged me into the bathroom. It looked like any public bathroom; a line of toilet stalls down one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It also smelled like any other bathroom, all nasty and stuff. Ew. Seriously, if this place belong to the gods, they should, at least, had classier lavatories.

Clark's friends were all laughing while I was trying to find the strength I had used when I fought the Minotaur. But my efforts were futile; it just wasn't there.

"Like she's 'Big Three' material!" Clark cackled as he pushed me down to one of the toilets. "Yeah, right! The Minotaur probably fell over because she was so stupid looking!"

His cronies laughed idiotically.

Anthony stood in the corner, watching the whole thing.

Clark bent me over on my knees and started pushing my head towards the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and, well, what goes into toilets. Disgusting! I was straining to keep my head up. I won't go into that. I won't!

Then, something happened. There was a tug in my gut, the plumbing then rumbled and the pipes shuddered. Clark's agonizingly, tight grip on my hair loosened, which was a relief. Water shot straight out of the toilet, creating an arch over my head, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the bathroom tiles with Clark yelling behind me.

I turned around just in time to see more water shooting out of the toilet, ramming into Clark, knocking him to the ground. The water continued on him like a fire hose, pushing him backwards into the shower stall.

He thrashed, gasping, and his friends came over to him. But then the other toilets blasted, too, and six streams of water pushed them back. The showers then acted up, and the fixtures all squirted the camo boys out of the restroom.

As soon as they were out the door, the tug in my gut lessened and the water shut off immediately.

The entire bathroom was flooded, and Anthony hadn't been spared. He was soaked, but standing in the same place, gawking at me.

I stood up, my legs shaking.

"How did you—"Anthony started to ask.

"I don't know."

We walked towards the door. Outside, Clark and his friends were sprawled in mud with campers surrounding them, gaping. Clark's hair was flattened across his face. His jacket drenched and he smelled like a sewer. He gave me a look of complete loathing, "I'm going to kill you, runt! You're dead!"

I should've probably let it go, but I didn't, "You want to swallow some more toilet water, Clark? Shut up!"

His friends had to hold him back as he tried to charge at me. They dragged him to cabin five while the other campers made a path to avoid his thrashing arms.

Anthony stared at me, and I wasn't sure if he was grossed out or angry for me blasting him with toilet water.

"What?" I asked him. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," he said, grinning slyly. "You're going to be on my team for capture the flag."

Sorry about the lack of updating. I was busy. Special thanks to skyler jackson chase who thought up of Wise Guy as Anthony's nickname. Hoped you liked it.

-Fae51