Slavic Huter [OC PJO Crossover]

Chapter 4 - What's This! What's this! There's colour everywhere! ...

What's this! There's a bus thing in the air!

14th December 2007, 41.069794 N, -71.904135 W

(Author's note: the coordinates are arbitrary; but they indicate the area described by Uncle Rick
Also - title is split into two: all because of Wattpad, and rule "Title has to have at most 80 signs...)

     How did the journey end? The fact that since then I have had an aversion to public transport vehicles. In short, after nearly burning New England (this would explain the color of the leaves in the fall, in the local forests), Thalia decided to turn the bus into a submarine. Poor camp naiads: if not horny heroes, then metal rubbish falling from the sky.

     After we finally got out of the vehicle (there was no permanent damage to the bodies of the passengers), I finally looked around the (so praised by Jackson) Camp Half-Blood. Don't get me wrong: I've been here a few times before, but usually in a hurry (quick meetings with Chiron) or surrounded by strong rivalry, and slight hostility (as part of the arrival of the Hunters). The only thing I hoped was that this time it would be without the latter. The campers adapted to the season and decorated the houses (along with the Big House) with lights, although these here looked more like balls of fire. The whole area of the camp was covered with white fluff: a thin layer, but it was still there.

     Nico watched it all with his mouth open, and his expression was similar to that of the 30-year-old who had received the Lego Death Star as a gift (no, my dears: Lego is NOT EXCLUSIVE for children), and Percy tried to keep up with the answers to the questions of the youngest of the group.
- Come on Nico, I'll introduce you to Chiron. Zoe, did you met...
- I knoweth Chiron. – she replied when asked, – Bid that gent yond I shall beest in cabin numb'r eight. Mrs. Artemis toldeth me yond thee has't -how doth those gents sayeth? Dispensation? I guesseth so. So i knoweth yond thee has't a dispensation to useth the "eight". Art thee going anon? – the latter she addressed to me. I shook my head.
- Wish to, but first I have to talk to the our host. I'll join later.
- As thee wisheth. Hunteth'rsses, followeth me – she ordered, and the rest of the girls followed her. Satyr (I heard his name on the bus is Grover) followed them, offering help. I smiled half-heartedly: of all the guys in Camp, he had the least chance of finishing with a dozen shots in his hooves. - Take care of yourselves, cuties! Apollo shouted after them, then winked at Percy and said.
- Watch out for prophecies Percy; we'll see soon again.
- What do you mean?
Apollo ignored him, got on the bus (which began to change back into a Maserati), and then turned to me on his way out.
- You may think that prophecies have no control over you, Sparrowhawk, but that doesn't mean they don't have control over world around you, no matter who or what you hear anything about yourself.

     And on that optimistic note, he growled the engine warningly, and as we looked away, he continued on his journey through the sky. Poseidon's son approached me
- What did he mean? I shook my head.
- Nothing, just one of his arguments, from our discussion many years ago. - I replied. It wasn't exactly true, but it was enough for me to remember the past for one day. And I still had to talk to the centaur. Jackson just shrugged.
- Come. I'll take you to Chiron.

***

     When we entered the Big House, there were two people sitting at the table playing cards: one with a thick beard and curly hair, sitting in a wheelchair, and the other in a purple and orange running outfit. Next to each of them, cups steamed on the table, from which the smell of chocolate betrayed the contents. Percy and Thalia came closer while I stayed in the shadows. The bearded man smiled at the sight of the heroes entering
- Percy! Thalia! Ah, and you must be...
- Nico di Angelo. - Jackson replied - He and his sister are half-blooded.
- So you succeeded? - Chiron breathed a sigh of relief, but only for a moment. Until he saw the words on the faces of his charges.
- What happened? Where's Annabeth?
-Come on... Don't say we've lost another one. – from the chair spoke the bored voice of the second player: the director of the camp, and privately the god of wine, Mr. D.