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【ὛὋȖ ẂᾋƝ'Ҭ ҬὋ ḰƝὋẂ ṂὛ ƝᾋṂἝ? ẂἝĿĿ, ὋḰ, ἿҒ ὛὋȖ ṂȖṨҬ, ϐȖҬ ƉὋƝ'Ҭ ĿᾋȖƓἬ】

►Sydney Australia◄

【ҬἬᾋҬ'Ṩ ȒἝᾋĿĿὛ ṂὛ ƝᾋṂἝ. ẂἬὋ ƝᾋṂἝṨ ҬἬἝἿȒ ḰἿƉ ᾋҒҬἝȒ ᾋ ƇἿҬὛ ᾋƝƉ ᾋ ƇὋȖƝҬȒὛ? ὛὋȖ ƇᾋƝ ƇᾋĿĿ ṂἝ】

►Syd or Ausi◄

【ὛὋȖ ẂᾋƝҬ ҬὋ ḰƝὋẂ ṂὛ ᾋƓἝ ҬὋὋ? ẂἬᾋҬ ἿṨ ҬἬἿṨ, ᾋƝ ҒϐἿ ἿƝҬἝȒȒὋƓᾋҬἿὋƝ? ҒἿƝἝ, ҒἿƝἝ, Ἷ'Ṃ】

►16◄

【ὛἝᾋἬ, ᾋҬ ἬὋṂἝ ἿҬ'Ṩ ЈȖṨҬ ṂἝ ᾋƝƉ ṂὛ】

►Dad◄

【ƉȒȖṂȒὋĿĿ ƤĿἝᾋṨἝ! ṂὛ ƓὋƉĿὛ ƤᾋȒἝƝҬ ἿṨ!】

►Nike◄

【ẂἬᾋҬ ƇᾋƝ Ἷ ƉὋ? ẂἝĿĿ, Ἷ ἬᾋҬἝ ҬὋ ϐȒᾋƓ ϐȖҬ】

►I'm a great athlete. Any sport that you put me in, I'm usually one of the best. And don't get me started on my free running. I'm good at playing musical instruments, but I'd rather draw. Or paint. Or sculpt. Anything I can do with my hands. And although I don't like to, I can fight like a demon. Or so my dad says, as if he's ever seen a demon fight.◄


ﾚ⊕⊕κïηg α ßï† dεεpεr. šεεïηg ωhα†'š ïηšïdε.


【ẂἝĿĿ, ὛἝᾋἬ. Ἷ ƉὋƝ'Ҭ ἬᾋҬἝ ἝVἝȒὛҬἬἿƝƓ】

►I like to run and play sports. Any kind of physical activity, really. I love animals, of all kinds, but I have a particular fondness for dogs. I'm an adrenaline junkie, so I love the more extreme things. Sky diving and bungee jumping, it's all in the name of fun. That's another thing that like, fun. And please, God, do not forget the music. Surprisingly, I like that Classical stuff. Don't get me wrong, I'v got some heavy metal blowing up my Ipod too, but there's something about Mozart or Tchaikovsky that really soothes my often volatile mind. ◄

【ϐȖҬ ҬἬἝȒἝ ᾋȒἝ ṨὋṂἝ ҬἬἿƝƓ ҬἬᾋҬ Ἷ ƇᾋƝ'Ҭ ṨҬᾋƝƉ!】

►I absolutely despise boring people. Is it really so difficult to throw a little pep in your step? And don't just sit there and not say anything, that really grinds my gears. I know this is a camp and all, but please, please don't tell me what to do. You can ask politely, but I do not take orders. Especially not from someone who's my own age. Oh yeah, keep the little kids away from me. I don't like them, they don't like me, and we have a mutual agreement not to screw with one another.◄

【ƓὋҬ ҬὋ ἬᾋVἝ ṨὋṂἝҬἬἿƝƓ ҬὋ ƤȒὋҬἝƇҬ ṂὛṨἝĿҒ, ṨὋ ὛἝᾋἬ, Ἷ ƇᾋȒȒὛ 】

►A Bowie knife, a long handled dagger, and, in my opinion, the most elegant weapon in the world, a Flamberge.◄

【ẂἬἝẂ! ἿҬ'Ṩ ϐἝἝƝ ᾋ ĿὋƝƓ ҬἿṂἝ ƇὋṂἿƝƓ, ϐȖҬ, ҒἿƝᾋĿĿὛ, ṂὛ ṨҬὋȒὛ】

►I was born in Australia, and no, not in Sydney, before you make some smart remark. Anyways, I was always a hyper kid. Bouncing off the walls, running around everywhere, stealing all the soccer balls during recess. Eventually I was diagnosed with ADHD, go figure. I still remember that day in the doctor's office as the man in the white coat recommended some medication for my dad to give me. I was freaking out. I thought that I'd be considered weird or a freak by the other kids. I wouldn't be as popular as I once was. I mean, no one likes a kid who's on medication, and, even though I was only in the fifth grade, appearances were everything. But my dad, being the wonderful, amazing man that he is, just smiled and said, "No, I think she'll be just fine without it." Needless to say, I left that office with a new respect and love for my father, and no medication. I knew that in the past I had been a real hassle to deal with, but I tried to calm down, honest to God. It just didn't work out too well.

I had this friend, my best friend, who's name was Carther. He was incredibly smart and funny. An all around good person. But, he had this problem with his legs. He was forced to walk around on these metal crutches, and I had felt sorry for him as we were growing up. I took him under my wing, and, as I was one of the "popular" kids, no one ever messed with him. He and I were practically joined at the hip, nothing could pull us apart. Except for my ADHD, of course. We were walking down the street one day on our way home, or on our way to my home, when this lady called to me from the doorway of one of the local pubs. Or, I think she called to me. I don't know, I never saw her lips move. Anyways, Carther was terrified, I mean, deathly afraid of this woman. I couldn't figure out why, the lady had to have been eighty years old, so there was no way she could do us any harm. But, because I'm the good friend that I am, I squelched my curiosity and kept walking alongside Carther. If he was scared, I wasn't going to ditch him and go off to talk to a stranger. At least, I wasn't planning on it. But, as was inevitable, my attention span and curiosity caught the better of me and before I knew what was happening, I was headed back towards the old hag. My dad should have gotten the medication.

I still remember every little detail about that day. The cold fear on Carther's skin as he gripped my arm and tried to pull me away. The agitation at being pulled away from something that had finally caught my interest, and managed to hold it. The disturbing grin of the hag as I walked up to her. Then, lastly, the pain. Excruciating pain in my legs as someone, something, grabbed hold of me, digging sharp, black claws into my leg. I remember my scream of agony and Carther's brave, but useless attempts to save me. I was being dragged into... Somewhere. It was nothing, really. A cold, dark hole sitting up in mid-air. I saw Carther get smacked away by the hag, who had sprouted wings and grown horns. Then there was the blare of a car horn and before I knew what was happening, my dad was there, bundling me up into the car and rushing me to the hospital. But Carther wasn't there. After I came to and they stitched up my leg, my dad announced that he'd be taking me to America, where I would continue my schooling and we would live, permanently. I asked about Carther, my friend, the boy who had tried to save me, even though I hadn't deserved it. My father just sighed and shook his head. Within a month, we were packed on a plane, heading to Manhattan. I didn't think I'd ever hear from Carther again.

We got to America, settled down, and for the next few years, things were quiet. There were no winged hags or black claws stretching out from a dark abyss in the air. Which led me to believe that it had all been a dream. Perhaps I had been hit by a car, and my ADHD brain had fabricated that elaborate story. Who knew? I didn't, that was for sure, but I didn't dwell on it either. I had managed to settle in nicely at my new school. Joining a myriad of sports and clubs had helped too. All in all, my new life was good, although I still became homesick every now and again. As the years passed, I started to forget my old life, my old friends, my old town, and my old "dream". I got new friends, and I spent a lot of time with them. We hung out at the bowling alley a lot, which I just now realize is a pretty cliched teenage thing to do. But, it's true. And it was at this bowling alley that I learned the truth of Carther, my "dream", and the world.

My friends and I were there, as I said before, just hanging out. We hardly ever even bowled, we just sat in the food court and talked and gossiped. After awhile, when the sun was setting and the place was all but empty, one of the newest additions to our group asked if we all wanted to go hang at her house. Naturally, we agreed and left the bowling alley. But, before we could get out of the parking lot, this black van pulled up and this... Thing got out. It was tall and scrawny, with these huge wings and horns. It spoke to me, and I recognized the voice. It was the voice of the old hag from my "dream". Before I could get my thoughts together and turn to run, my so called friends began to push me towards the van and the disgusting hag. They had changed too. They looked like that old hag, only a younger version. Was that possible? I didn't have time to think about it, because this earsplitting war cry (it was more of a bleat) came out of nowhere and in a flurry of motion, the old hag was on the ground, screaming and holding one of her horns in her hand, and I and my savior were running for our lives. I glance up as we head down the street and you know who I see looking back to see if we were being followed? You guessed it, my old friend Carther. Only, he didn't have his crutches and his feet were clopping as he ran. No, that wasn't right. He galloped. Now he was bundling me into a van, where my dad sat in the front seat. I get in and we speed away, then the two start to tell me things. Strange things that shouldn't be real, but they make so much since. They tell me about the Gods, about my "dream", about the creatures that attacked me and about Carther. Then I glance into the back and my bags are packed. Dad's taking me to a place where he claims I'll be safe. I'm not too sure about that, but I'm up to try anything. So here I am, at Camp Half Blood.◄


ωεﾚﾚ, †hα†'š ï†. ïƒ ψ⊕u ωαη† †⊕ κη⊕ω m⊕rε, ς⊕mε †αﾚκ †⊕ mε αgαïη š⊕mεï†mε.