Sebastian's bunk

He looked around the cabin, amazed at how beautiful it looked. He took in everything, trying to memorize as much as he could of the place as possible. He picked a bottom bunk that was next to a shelf of books and parchment and adjusted himself so he was on his back. "Mine. Definitely mine." He said, with a voice of sadness masked by happiness.

As soon as the duo walked in to the cabin, Archer could tell how much Seb had liked it -- and that he had been right about complimenting the cabin down at the beach. The other boy seemed enchanted by the setup, the parchment and the books and potions and everything else; it was almost cute in a way, how new demigods were usually so amazed by the alleged magic contained in this cheesy little summer camp.

"Well, yeah." Benoit spread his arms out like a showgirl showing off some wonderful prize you had just won in a game show. "Here it is. Having fun?"

"Ok, I admit it. It's awesome. So we all just sleep in here? Cool. Hey who snores so I know who to throw stuff at if I'm woken up." He said with a grin on his face that made it hard to tell if he was kidding or not.

"Yeah, curfew's at 10 or something. I suggest not throwing anything at anybody in this cabin, at the very least; we've all probably got magic powers. Fireballs and lightning probably hurt." Not that Archer had ever been stupid enough to do that, but he had heard stories from long ago of that Idiot Who Threw a Pillow and Got Half His Face Burned. He had shield powers, so if it ever came to that he would be very safe -- along with whoever was on the bunk underneath him.

"Wait. Magic? Is this like Harry Potter or something like that?" He snorted and shook his head. That was the weirdest thing he had heard all day.

"Oh yeah. Yeah. But we don't shout spell names, that's probably the stupidest part." Archer glanced at him, hands shoved down the pockets of his khakis; inside was some lint, two drachmas, and then six quarters and three dimes. He never really spent money here, unless he was IMing his dad back home. "Did, er... did you talk to someone when you got here? Like a centaur? He must have said something about this."

"Yeah but I started blurring when he asked me about my dad so I can barely remember anything after that." He took a random book from the shelf and started skimming the pages.

Archer stared at him for a moment, idly tapping his foot on the ground to keep himself moving, keep his legs from going numb while standing. What a plot twist.

"Eh. Did something happen to your dad?" A pause, and then: "You don't need to tell me if you don't wanna." Lots of demigods had parents who didn't like them -- or were dead, sometimes having died just getting their kid to camp. Really tragic, honestly, he felt bad for them but could only sympathize with their experiences and offer a kind pat on the head or shoulder -- as if that would repair perhaps a lifetime of misery. He was terrible with emotions, he was; it was probably why he didn't have that many friends.

"Hey cool. Shadow magic." He said, changing the subject quickly. "Maybe I should practice a little on this. Hehe, imagine me learning every possible spell. Freaking awesome." He read the page and marked it so he could go back to it if it closed suddenly.

"If you mean every type of magic -- you can't," Archer replied bluntly, walking to a wicker chair in the corner and sitting down in it. Comfy, it was; it was a lot better than the stiff armchairs in the library. He leaned back and listened to it creak under his weight, probably from the stress of bearing so many demigods' rear ends over the years. "People have tried. Failed. Died, even, if they tried something too far out of their territory. And even if you specialize in one branch, you still can't do everything in it unless you're Hecate herself or some god of that."

"Dang it. Sucks. Ah well. I think I'll check these out later and practice them. By the way, what kind of magic do you use?" He asked, curiosity in his voice.

Archer had to think a minute, it had been so long since he'd last user magic. "Levitation. Illusions. Shields. Shadow-travel. Item-conjuring. My sister blows stuff up." Most of his powers weren't very good for fighting, in his opinion -- more for flight, but that was his style more than trying to blow up a tree head-on like Claire. He sighed and shruggd, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. "All good and fun, but difficult to maintain. Keep practicing even if you think you mastered the spell."

"Cool. You must be one of the best fighters with those moves huh?" He said looking at one of the pages. "I mean, tricking your opponents that you're somewhere and then boom! you attack them from behind. Or you can just momentarily make it rain waffles or something like that and then you hit them while they're confused. It's pretty creative actually."

"Eh, no. I don't like fighting. It's better for escape, I guess, but I have limits. Can't make it rain more than, say, six waffles at once or shadow-travel twice in an hour. We've all got funky limits." Archer scratched his neck, crossing his legs as he watched Seb flip through the book. It wasn't the one Archer had used, but it was basically just as old, just as good.

"Ok. Well at least that's what I would do. Of course you need healing spells though. Who knows what could happen at any time. You know where those books are?" He asked putting down the book he had.

Archer had to think a minute, he hadn't been the one to rearrange the shelves' ordering. The parchment was neatly stacked in scroll-form and the books were aligned alphabetically by author name, including those by Houdini who was, apparently, one of the most talented Hecate kids to ever grace camp. "Try third shelf down. The blue and purple ones, I think."

He took that book and flipped through the pages. "Yep. These are the ones. Well, thanks for your help Archer." He said with a smile.

"You're welcome, man. Just don't strain yourself or anything -- new kids tend to do that and end up unconscious in the infirmary for a week." That had almost been Archer, once upon a time; he had made one too many shields and ended up passing out, so Claire and some other kids dragged him back into the cabin so he could rest up sufficiently. Couldn't walk properly for a few hours without getting dizzy, too, so that sucked.

"Got it."

Archer gave him a thumbs-up before he stood from the chair and went over to his bunk area; his chest had been stored underneath the bottom bunk, along with Claire's (who occupied the bottom bed), wooden and a little dusty from the years spent underneath the bunks. He stored his clothes in there, along with money, electronics like a Gameboy Color, his favorite watches from back home -- and he had the spellbook he and Claire studied for so long, wrapped up in coarse black cloth to keep it safe from the damp. He pulled it out now and unwrapped it, laying it on his sister's bunk delicately.

"Hmm?" He said. "Cool book. Where'd you get it?"

"Same place as you, buddy. Mine's just a bit older, is all. Redone in the 1500s or so by some English magician and then brought to the United States by Chiron." That was the story one of his siblings had told him, anyway, but Archer was inclined to believe it due to the dates written in the book as well as the handwriting and language. It had been hard to decipher originally, but he and Claire grew used to it after a while and could read it sufficiently well. Their English hadn't been so good upon their arrival at camp, but hey -- they learned.