FLICKER [PJO]

5 • The Coca-Cola Tourist-y God Isn't My Dad

There's a tornado (there's a tornado)
in my city (in my city)
In the basement (in the basement),
that shit ain't pretty (shit ain't pretty)
Rugged whiskey (rugged whiskey)
'cause we survivin' ('cause we survivin')
TEXAS HOLD 'EM • Beyoncè

🌸🌸🌸

The "Big House" was just the way it was suggested. It was a three-storey building with ceilings surpassing eight feet tall each, painted a calming blue. This building was cast away from the Olympian cabins, and surrounded by a thicker, yet mesmerising, forest. 

We arrived outside the Big House and were rudely greeted by a man lounging on the front verandah, with his legs propped up on the table. He was so slouched and curled into his chair, that he had both a double chin and presumably, the utmost difficulty to drink the three cans of Diet Coke, including the one he raised at us. 

"Aubrey and Alex, welcome back," he drawled in a bored tone. 

I immediately assumed that he hated Camp Half-Blood, or the campers living there, with a passion. Nor, could he remember names correctly. Aubrey might have been Austin, and Alex must have meant Ashby. 

"Newcomer?" He suggested, raising his coke can again in our direction as if to flag us down. 

Austin and Ashby hesitantly climbed up the verandah steps and I had no choice but to follow. 

Actually, no, I could have broken the window and dived into the mansion, then came back through the front door. I should have. But, I didn't. 

Unfortunately, both his question and focus were on me. 

"Yes, this is⎯" Ashby began as I interrupted. 

"Flick Fairbourne, your imperial deity of coke cans and a horrible sense of fashion," I said in my most charming voice as I descended into a deep curtsy and lowered my head. 

Maybe I did know how to curtsy. I think I did a curtsy, or was it something else entirely? I realised then that I should have jumped through the window when I had the chance. 

I may have made a horrible fool of myself, but the satiric statement had been very enjoyable. As my confidence wavered, I raised my head and was met by slow clapping. The man had sat up and was grinning. 

Oh, golly! He had placed down his coke can! What a morbid shock!

But, I was pleased. I had his attention. 

"And, what do I owe this humble greeting, Miss Fairbourne?" He asked with his hands pressed together. 

I almost sarcastically dropped and screamed bloody murder that he'd gotten my name right. 

I charmingly stood up and laughed, placing my hands on my hips. "I merely wished to find out if your amusement level was as low as your approachability," I said. "I suppose I was right."

Ashby dropped his jaw. Austin whistled downhill with his hands in his pockets. 

"Uh, Flick?" Ashby said with a quiver in his voice. "This is Mr D, Camp Director. He also goes by Dionysus, the god of wine." 

I had known who he was. Austin had earlier mentioned they had a godly resident, and I thought the light-hearted teasing of that god only had to be the one right in front of me. 

Unfortunately, this had freaked Ashby out and he stood beside me shaking. I had insulted an Olympian more than once in the past five minutes without breaking a sweat. At the time, I hadn't realised that if Mr D got pissed off, that would result in demerits towards the satyr for simply being there. 

Mr D didn't scare me. Honestly, how hard was it to insult a flabby, cola-drinking, touristy Olympian stuck lounging in a camp for demigod children? Even when I'd figured out his name I wasn't phased. 

I used to annoy and insult all kinds of important people at my mother's dinner parties and formal events that I had been expected to attend. As I got older, the more she wanted me to come, but my attitude towards the people at the events gutted her. But seriously, how could anyone be as oblivious or uptight about things? Rich people. I hated rich people. I knew my mother was rich, and her parents were rich, but none of them was ever around - I had grown up with my stepfather, he wasn't rich, he managed his own business. He was always there. 

Mr D was high and mighty - the only important difference was this guy was a god. He had the power to kill me if he wanted to. 

I just added a point to my bucket list and immediately ticked it off.

Insult a god? Check!

"An Olympian on Earth?" I teased. "How out of place, Your Highness. After all, I hear you may be one of the candidates for my godly parent."

Mr D clutched the armrests of his chair so hard that I could see his knuckles turning white. 

"Your godly parent? I apologise to say you have assumed that I may have been, but unfortunately not. Perhaps you will get claimed tonight, Flick," Dionysus replied. 

"Mr D?" Ashby asked hesitantly. "Is Chiron inside? We have a problem."

"And, why couldn't you ask me?" Mr D questioned picking up a coke can from the table without making eye contact. 

"Oh, of course! You can help us!" I suggested. "I projectile vomited all over the Hermes cabin a few moments ago, and even a child of Apollo couldn't help. It must have been the adrenaline wearing off from the ride here. We'll need lots and lots of toilet paper and towels, especially if I could be carrying a stomach bug," I explained. A problem of 100 hundred campers catching a stomach bug wouldn't have been an issue he would have wanted to deal with. 

And luckily for me, I did still smell like vomit from the carpark over two hours ago. 

Mr D grimaced and waved us off. "Chiron's in there."

Austin and Ashby quickly pushed me into the Big House and shut the doors before I could say another word. 

"Good cover story," was the first thing Austin said. 

"We can cross Mr D off your list," Ashby sighed. 

"And, you insulted Mr D? I don't even think Percy Jackson has managed to piss him off that much. And, he used your full name and surname. And, you do smell like puke," Austin rambled.

"Um, thanks," I mumbled.

Ashby grabbed his horns and started picking at them. "We are in so much trouble," he bleated softly.

I put my hand on Ashby's arm to lower them and get his attention. "I'm sorry, Ashby. I will help with any punishment that gets thrown at you. I wouldn't have told him about the plants or we would've had a vine competition." 

Both Ashby and Austin laughed. They were probably thinking of two types of vines: short films or literal vine battles. 

"I would've gotten the film out," Austin said between laughter. 

I cracked a grin. "Now," I said, observing the old foyer. One side led to a game room, another a living room, a kitchen and oddly shaped stairs. The main thing that caught my eye was that the corridor from the foyer to the kitchen was lined with commercial fridges perfectly filled with endless cans of Diet Coke.  

"Where can we find this Chiron?" I asked.

We felt silent, until we heard speaker thumps coming from the kitchen. 

"Could it possibly be coming from the Billy Joel music?" I said with a grimace. 

"No, Chiron doesn't listen to Billy Joel," Austin confirmed. "My dad said⎯"

The boy paused and crossed a glance with Ashby. 

"Unless, of course..." Ashby finished with a nod. 

"Of course, she's back," Austin sighed and ran towards the kitchen.