frolicking in the fields [private]

Stella never really felt the brunt of the camp's steaming summer days, but then again, having cool wind blow around you and (as a side effect) majestically tousling your hair like some weird shampoo commercial probably helped a lot. Dionysus liked seeing them all burn, but 1) she would never give him the satisfaction of burning her and 2) Stella was gonna burn him and the rest of this damned camp down someday, just you wait. But she couldn't complain too much; she was nice and not-sweaty, unlike all the other poor unfortunate souls getting roasted under the heat of the sun or submerging themselves in the lake or the beach to get away from it all for a bit.

Stella hated being wet. The shower? No problem. Large bodies of water? Sweat? Screw that.

She whistled to herself softly, dragging a long thin tree branch behind her in the dirt path to create one long, jagged line as she walked towards the strawberry fields. This year the strawberries were, according to one Demeter girl she'd somehow had a pleasant conversation with, the sweetest they'd ever been -- "bit like you, huh?" Stella couldn't tell if she'd been sarcastic or not, but hey, semi-cute girl compliments you and doesn't ask if you're about to kill her, you take it. She readjusted her sunglasses as she finally reached the fields, where she could see rows and rows of plants -- strawberries large and almost searingly bright red, like a cartoon rendition of them. She reached down to pluck one, raising her sunglasses to take a closer look: best they'd ever been, yeah.

Before coming to Camp Half-Blood, Milocross spent a good amount of time watching the sun rise after many summer nights of sneaking out and getting into all kinds of tom foolery. The air would always be warm and humid, and she would hear the birds sing. It calmed her after nights of excessive stimulation.

However, she could never get used to the blistering heat. She sat by a tree in the shade, shades on and curly hair tied back. Her tea was reduced to ice. Every once in a while she'd chew on a cube to keep cool. She could just leave, but that would require Milocross leaving her comfy spot in the shade. She leaned towards a sunny spot in the sun to pick a few strawberries and tossed them back.

Milocross notices Stella... dragging a tree branch around. She watched her for a moment before calling out to her.

"Stellaaaaa!" she heard this in a movie.

“Eh?” Stella looked over her shoulder in the direction of whoever the hell had just called her name, wondering briefly if she were about to get jumped by some idiot with a bone to pick. But no, thank the Fates, it was just her old friend Milocross in the distance, sitting under a shady tree and watching her.

Was she in the mood to talk? Maybe. She hadn’t seen any of her fellow demititans in a while, and her sisters were busy doing who-knows-what; she was no chatty Kathy with anyone, really. But Stella at least recalled having a decent conversation with Milocross, so it wouldn’t be too much of a drag to kick back and chill for a bit.

Tossing the strawberry over her shoulder, Stella made her way over to the tree her friend sat under, still dragging the stick behind her. She nodded at Milocross: “Keepin’ cool? I expected half the camp to be vacationing in Alaska right now, knowing how many of them are somehow rich.”

Milocross is always happy to see Stella. Somehow the demititans seemed more... mature. Most people are apprehensive to talk to a child of the Goddess of hate, but Milo has never cared too much about anything to hate. Except for slow drivers. She can't stand those.

She throws back a couple more ice cubes.

"I dunno, maybe the Gods have a thing for rich folk. You'd think that all humans would be beneath them. But I guess there aren't too many options up in Olympus."

“There are options, it’s just that they’re tired of them. And I would be too, if I had to spend thousands of years with the same old stupid people and risk getting disemboweled for looking at someone the wrong way.” Ha. Prometheus joke. Stella, stepping on the end of the stick, broke it in half and tossed the piece in her hand over her shoulder. She didn’t even know why she’d picked it up; she had unconsciously done it after being reminded briefly of being a scrappy, bored kid in Kansas. There wasn’t anything to do around that garbage sinkhole except run around town getting into trouble.

Was camp much different? Not really, nowadays. Same old people, same old boring activities that she never bothered to take part of. Where the hell were the other demititans? Did they die? She hoped not. She didn’t want to have to make new friends.

“But how have you been lately? Haven’t seen you in a while.”