John's Bunk

Cole walked into the underworld cabin. He saw a kid his age, and walked over to him. "Uh, hey. I'm Cole," he told the kid.

Cole looked around the cabin. It was mostly empty, and had the dreary mood in it that was always there. The room was darkly lit, and the bunks all had black or grey blankets. Then he turned back to John. He looked a lot like Cole, with dark hair, skinny, and a slight slouch. He looked over at John's sketchbook, and saw a black and white version of the cabin. Cole was impressed, for John was right down to the last detail. "You're an amazing artist," he said to the boy.

Cole knew that this was normal for a Thanatos kid. He himself was very shy, and Cole was taking a chance on John. All he needed was a little push. "So, what kind of stuff do you draw?" he asked, trying to start a conversation.

Cole thought for a moment. He wasn't used to the whole 'talking' thing either, but Cole could tell that the boy was warming up to the idea. "Well, I don't know. I like swordfighting, and I, uh, I like to play with my pet hellhound, Uba," he said to John. "So, where are you from?" he asked nervously.

"New York, actually," he said. "So, uh, what, um, what made you not like Kentucky?" asked Cole, as his curiosity took over.

"My step-dad mostly..." John said, looking down at his sheets.

Cole accepted this. Most step-parents sucked. "Oh, yeah. I had a step-dad too, but my mom really liked him, so I pretended to like him. He was really nice, I just felt like he didn't belong..." he said, looking at John's far away expression.

John touched the scar on his cheek, grimacing at some old memory. "Yeah, that was my step-dads problem too..."  He said, his voice far away.

Cole thought back to when he came to Camp Half-Blood. Haley. Burn. So many flames.... Cole instinctively scratched at his permanent burn on his shoulder. "So, uh, that scar... What happened?" He asked.

"I got it during a battle..." I say, lying. Truth was, his stepfather cut him on the cheek the day before he left camp. The wound just did turn into a scar.

Cole nodded. "Cool..." he said. Cole could tell that John was holding something back, but he didn't want to pressure him.

Cole flipped his black hair out of his eyes. "Well, nice talkin' to you, but I have to go now. I'll see you around," he said, walking back to his own bunk.

Santa Hermes walked in to the Minor Underworld Gods cabin, tired and flustered; his head still hurt a bit from his fall. He took a quick glance at his list -- John, son of Thanatos, in this cabin. Scythe.

Aah, yes. That stupid thing. He pulled open his bag and reached deep inside, pulling out a long Stygian iron scythe from the depths of that blessed carrier. Hermes had taken care to wrap up the blade so he wouldn't hurt himself with it -- and to try shutting the thing up. It had partially worked, after it had teased Hermes for tangling himself in that whip present. Grumbling to himself, Santa Hermes laid the scythe against the wall by the boy's bunk and stalked out of the cabin.

[Child's Name: John Wolpert
God Parent: Thanatos
Type of Gift and Powers of this Gift: A talking Stygian iron scythe, kind of snarky, and sings show tunes every now and then.]

John woke up a little bit after Santa Hermes had visited. He yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He saw the gift on the wall, and lit up. Smiling. He went over and unwrapped it's blade. "Hey, be careful! I wouldn't want you to cut yourself, you are ugly enough without another scar." The Scythe says. "Kind of rude there man , erm... Scythe..." "I'm sorry, would you prefer it if I just insult you're intelligence? Oh, wait. What intelligence. " John sighs, and walks outside. Trying to figure out how to shut up his Scythe.