Arsonist's Lullabye ──── Leo Valdez

𝟏: 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧

─────𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 from going on a possibly fatal quest halfway around the country, Vincent was having a rotten day—

First, he had been dozing off at the Ares table in the morning (Annabeth and Chiron swore he'd get his own table one day). His half aunts and uncles (It pissed Clarisse off immensely when he called her Auntie), were rowdy, as usual. 

Seriously? How the fuck did any of them have enough energy to not only stay awake at the table at eight in the morning, but also brandishing weapons as they playfully threatened each other. 

Vincent couldn't wait to get his own cabin. Ares kids were fine and all, but let's just say he would like to go to sleep without fearing for his life. On more than one occasion, he had been woken up with a sword to his face, someone trying to smother him with a pillow, or the all time classic— military drills. 

Even now, his head drooped so much he would have fallen on his waffles. Thankfully, Ellis Wakefield was nice enough to splash him in the face with a spoonful of milk from his cereal. 

Vincent was starting to miss Cabin eleven. At least when he was unclaimed, he didn't have to deal with the most uncivilized cabin.

Secondly, he almost got skewered thrice during training. He wasn't bad at sword fighting. After three years at camp, he was better than decent. In fact, he would consider himself one of the only people who could go toe to toe with someone from the Ares Cabin and survive. 

Even if his Godly father wasn't the god of war, Vincent managed to hold his own when it came to fights. 

There wasn't much to do at Camp for year round campers like Vincent. He had already scaled the lava wall a million times, trained against most of the campers, participated in Capture the Flag, made bracelets in arts and crafts, and even tried his hand at canoeing (he was terrible at it and the boat flipped him into the water)

Despite all that, Camp Halfblood never really got old. 

No matter how long Vincent spent there, he doubted he would ever get bored. There was always something happening. Like for instance, now—

"You smell," Was the only greeting he got from Annabeth as she stalked inside the training arena. 

Vincent was trying (and failing) to teach some of the younger campers how to sword fight. Granted, that most of them were preteens, but Vincent would have thought it was common sense not to try to stab your instructor during your first lesson. 

Thankfully, they were all idiots and couldn't even stab him correctly. He managed to survive two whole hours until he saw a familiar flash of blonde hair and a girl walked in with a determined stride. 

"No stabbing each other, Camp doesn't offer insurance!" He called out to the young demigods as Annabeth pulled him to the side. He didn't trust the little shits not to commit murder. He remembered what it was like to be thirteen, entering this world of magic and monsters. Also, pre teens are some of the most blood thirsty people out there. 

He turned to Annabeth, "What's up? And don't say you came just to say 'you smell'."

Her expression bothered him. 

Annabeth was the type of popular girl that everyone knew. Nevermind the fact that she was one of the main heroes in the Battle of Manhattan and had personally fought against Luke/Kronos, she was also the architect of Olympus and one of the oldest campers (to still be alive lmao) who had been at camp for nearly eight or nine years if her beads were anything to go by.