The Mechanic of Ogygia

Leo- I Make Molasses Cookies

"Calypso," I laughed from under the automaton. It had been made by Hephestaus, but my dad seemed to have lost his touch. Either that, or the satyr who owned it poured molasses in the control center.  "I'm not going to be the Camp Half Blood mascot."

Calypso laughed, that beautiful, tinkly laugh that I loved. "I know- we're just going to 'hop in, say hey to the bros, and advertise Ogygia Mechanics,'" she said in the best imitation of my voice. I say best because of her effort, not skill.

"As soon as I get done with this one, we'll go." Calypso nodded, looking over at Festus. "You could probably feed him, you know," I said, tossing her a bottle of oil I had conjured from my toolbelt. Calypso made herself busy by feeding him and petting his metal hide.

About an hour later, I was finished. Well, the molasses was out and I had made a few upgrades. Including one that would automatically bake some delicious molasses cookies. I was hungry, ok?

Calypso and I munched on some delicious cookies while Festus happily chugged his oil. "Challawee?" Calypso suggested, spitting flecks of cookie into my face. Her face turned bright red, in comparison to my brown one (I tried to smear off the molasses- it didn't work too well.) "I mean, shall we?"

"Your chariot awaits." I gestured to Festus the way the "Wheel of Fortune" lady shows the letters when someone guesses correctly. Calypso's braid smacked me as she swung on to Festus' shiny back. I patted Festus on the hard, metallic head.

"You're stalling, aren't you," Calypso noticed.

"I'm glad my girlfriend is so observant."

"You're avoiding the answer."

"Extremely observant."

"Leo." Calypso's tone hadn't been more serious since she begged me not to leave Ogygia back when I accidentally came to her island. "You're afraid of seeing them again."

I couldn't hide anything from her. "I was the seventh wheel. Maybe they're glad I was gone, maybe they were excited that I couldn't mess anything up anymore."

Calypso didn't know what to say to that. "Your chariot awaits, L'Oreal."

L'Oreal. I had forgotten about that nickname. We had been getting Calypso some conditioner ('Will it really make my hair smell like my garden?') and the cashier had seen my hands, which I had been working with all day. The cashier had a very cool Scottish accent. "Aye, laddie. Those hands- so blistered. You better moisturize those, boy." I'm not one to turn down a Scottish accent or a 20% off coupon for my eighth purchase of L'Oreal Hand Relief-Shea Butter scented.

"All right, Lip Gloss." (CaLYPso? get it? Ok, I'm not great at making up nicknames on the spot.) "To Camp!" I ordered Festus in the same tone as I would have yelled 'For Narnia!'

"You're such a dork, Leo."

"Thanks." I flashed her a gleaming smile as we flew up into the air, on our quest to find out if my friends remembered my existence.