Clashing Fates {BEING REWRITTEN}

Erika

Warnings: Terrible writing and plot skills, mild descriptions that might give you mental images idk

"What are you doing out here so early?" A familiar voice bleated.

I turned to see Clover. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed- if he had a bed. His reed pipes slung across his neck, and his t-shirt, jeans and sneakers almost made me believe this was all a hallucination. But I knew better, I was in a camp where I couldn't leave otherwise I'd be eaten.

"jakžtakž," I replied, my Czech slipping of my tongue. "I mean, so-so!" I mentally kicked myself, because Clover looked pretty excited. When he's excited, he can lose control of his bladder. It's..not a pretty sight.

"I didn't know you could speak that fluently!" He exclaimed, wonder shining through his eyes. He always had a fancy for the country. I have no idea why.

"Why do you have such a fancy to my home country anyways?" I asked him, twirling around a small ring I'd found in my pyjama pocket.

"Lindens. Those linden dryads are beautiful!" 

I raised my eyebrow quizzically. He blushed and 'smoothly' redirected the conversation.

"I think it's time you met Mr D."

  "Who?"

"Our camp director"

I didn't press it, he seemed scared as we walked towards a big house.No idea why. We knocked on the door (which i though was pretty inconsiderate at ten past eight) and a voice drawled out, "Come in!"

The first impression of this guy was somebody who enjoyed their liquid bravery. He was short. And fat. He wore a leopard shirt that reeked almost as much as he did. He did not look very accommodating. 

"You must be Elaine Lute" He stated, sipping from a diet coke can. 

"Actually it's-" I was about to correct him but he cut me off.

"I know your name Elnora Lancer!"

Dude. What the heck. What is with this dude. 

"Anyways, welcome to Camp Half-Blood, blah, blah, blah all that jazz that camp directors are meant to say to mentally trouble kids."

"Mentally troubled?!"  I burst out, glaring at Mr D, "What's the D even stand for anyways? Dummy?"

His eyes flashed with anger and he smiled dangerously. I had visions of pirates turning into dolphins, and wine-induced men tearing each other apart in a frenzy.

I gulped. "Okay. Dionysus. Got it!" I squeaked. 

"Finally, somebody who fears me the appropriate amount! Morpheus' spawn were all respecting eventually"

That's probably because we control dreams. Maybe illusions and dreams were similar enough for me to, like, respect or fear him and all that weird godly jazz.

He shooed me off like a naughty dog. 

"What even happened-" I asked, looking past my shoulder.