Camp Half Blood ~ Thalia's Pine
Oh dear dad
Can you see me now
I am myself
Like you somehow
I'll ride the wave
Where it takes me
I'll hold the pain
Release it
To the random passerby, Griffin simply appeared to be relaxing. Clad in thick pioneer headphones that blared 90s rock, Griffin was lost in his own little world. But there was a purpose to his lone vigil on Half-Blood Hill, though he'd never admit it. For days, Ky' vie had been gone on whatever glorified errand the Oracle had sent her on, and was expected to return today. That, and the potential for him hide from any work Chiron would put him to if he was found made such an opportunity truly golden.
Lazily leaning against Thalia's Pine, Griffin did not initially react as he caught two figures approaching him out of his peripheral vision. One brief glimpse of bubblegum pink hair was enough to identify Syleste. And no one had a more melancholy air than Erin, who walked side-by-side with his bubbly blind friend.
Griffin picked up Erin's mocking words over his music (unfortunately), and pulled his headphones down so they rested around his neck, mussing up his hair for a moment before turning to face the two girls, both hands finding his jacket pockets.
"I'd rather be a puppy than a tour guide, love." He finally replied with a bemused grin, knowing full-well that Erin had been 'honorably chosen' to greet any newcomers to Camp.
"'Fraid your PMS can't contest with Wine God's bullheadedness, Skeleta -- he threaten to turn you into a minnow again? I've been keeping count." Not waiting for an answer, Griffin moved closer to the duo, the subdued music still audible through his displaced headphones.
Cocking his head to the side to land on Syleste, Griffin cast a more sincere smile, though he knew she couldn't see it. "Hello, Syl." He greeted in a tone that was almost uncharacteristically warm; one he saved almost solely for her.
"You on damage control?" He asked, eyeing Erin briefly. He'd known the daughter of death for a number of years now, and many things she was - but welcoming was not among them.
"I hear we've got a newbie coming - one of the
Romans." Griffin casually switched subjects, mock reverence in his voice at the word 'Roman'. At Erin's subtle, though inquisitive quirk of a brow, Griffin brusquely explained his more intimate knowledge of the newcomer: "I'm a son of Hermes, if there's something juicy to learn in Camp, I'm all on it." He finished with a mischievous grin.
There was no denying the small amount of disdain between the Roman and Greek camps. Camp Jupiter, according to what little knowledge there was to be had by the inhabitants of Camp Half-Blood, was far more militaristic and disciplined. If Camp Half-Blood was a summer camp for demigod kids, then Camp Jupiter was the bloody ROTC on steroids.
"Well, I suppose you best get on with the tour-guiding. Shouldn't let any tenderfoots miss out on your dazzling personality, love." Griffin then added to Erin, performing a two-fingered salute in her direction as a farewell gesture. "See you 'round, Syl, try not to get into
too much trouble." He bid to his pink-haired friend with a manic grin and wink before once more putting his headphones over his ears and turning back towards the horizon, ending the conversation.
Camp Half-Blood ~ Cabin One
Cabin One. Very few demigods were able to call Zeus' Cabin their home, and such a claim could be confirmed by its almost immaculate appearance. Not marked by stains, carvings, or other signs of previous inhabitants like many of the more well-inhabited cabins (with Hermes' especially coming to mind), Roy enjoyed the cleanliness such a home brought him.
Though typically, campers without a cabin for their parent were sent to Hermes', Roy managed to convince Chiron and Mr. D to let him stay in Cabin One, due to Boreas' close association with Zeus. Who better to pair with the lord of the sky than the North Wind?
And so Roy sat on his bed, a small block of wood in a single callused hand while another deftly held a Swiss army knife, whittling the sharp edge against the block, paring small shavings and slivers off the block autonomously, giving the block of wood shape and definition - meaning almost.
Roy could hear his father's words echo through his head:
"Whatever it is you do, son. Do it well, and put your all into it." Those words, insignificant as they may be to some people, stayed with Roy since he first went to Camp. He applied this motto everywhere, whether it came to quests, to competitions, or simply whittling. What point was there to doing something if you treated it without your full care or attention?
Roy's eyes, bright and blue like slivers of ice themselves, were keenly focused on the piece of wood, picturing the final product of his creation thousands of slices ahead of his current progress. The more he whittled, the more shavings began to gather into a neat pile on the floor. Hircine, Roy's shaggy beast of a dog, buried his wet snout into the pile of shavings, immediately regretting his decision as a loud sneeze ran through his body, scattering the shavings all about the cabin room.
With an indignant shake and a huff, Hircine walked out of the room, too disgusted by the behavior of the shavings to stand even another moment in their presence.
Snickering as he caught his dog's antics in his peripheral, Roy continued to work ceaselessly, finding solace in its simplicity. The more he lost himself in his work, the clearer his mind became. And he would find himself humming that very same song his mother would often sing for him in his younger years - a song that, like many memories; stuck.
There are loved ones in the glory
Whose dear forms you often miss.
When you close your earthly story,
Will you join them in their bliss?