Following the Grapevine (Private)

May was a rather eventful month for the Bianchi family - or at least it was for Julien and Silvio's side of it. Silvio Bianchi - a grown man who had knocked up the winged goddes Nike some 17 or 18 years back - was normally prepping for two races at the time. And neither of them were blow-offs either.

The first one (in terms of importance), which was still a month or so away, was the 24 Heures du Mans - a day-long endurance race in which he and two other people missing the right screws needed to drive 400kmh for a living would play hot potato with a car made out of a brittle carbon-based plastic-like material while trying to avoid other, slower vehicles. The other race - and the reason Julien was even at camp this early in May - was the Indinapolis 500, which was like LeMans, but in a car with open wheels, inside an enclosed oval, and was only two or so hours long. But the flimsy carbon-plastic and drivers cursed by Athena with a lack of worry towards longevity were still there at Indy.

Julien - a seventeen year old teenage son of Nike - normally tagged along with his dad to these events, was in need of a favor. While he managed to go to these races year after year after year, the luxury of a faint scent had helped him stay off the radar of any lethal monsters. But a few years back, after Thalia's Tree was poisoned and the camp's borders were breached, Julien's scent had become much more noticeable. He started packing a dagger, but now, after Manhattan and the Giants, the Swiss son of Nike had a hunch that a blade that small would no longer suffice. He now needed a primary, not a sidearm, as his go-to weapon away from camp.

And he knew exactly who to talk to.

The camp was full of talented people, and Bianchi had just happened to hear about exactly the one he needed. It was this girl - a Texan, of all things - from cabin 9 (where else?) who knew how to make things - lethal things - turn into mundane items at the will of the wielder. The only drawback was that she was only a part-timer - like he was, but with worse attendance. But given what he had heard, Julien was willing to take a shot on her being at camp this day.

So, taking a minor stop on Long Island before flying west to Indinapolis and spectating some practice sessions, Julien walked into cabin 9 and leaned against the wall next to the gear door. Clothed in a Sauber F1 collared shirt, blue jeans, olive green Nike SB skate shoes, a blue Red Bull flat brim cap and some Oakley glasses shielding his eyes, he truly looked like the d0uchebag he was very capable of being.

OOC: My apologies for the essay I wrote here.

OOC: Please, never apologize for the length of a post :)

BIC: Sawyer was sitting on the windowsill, notebook in hand. Her pencil was brushing the paper with delicacy and precision, sometimes switching out for blue and turquoise chalks. Sawyer loved drawing cityscapes, especially streamlined and sci-fi-ish skyscrapers; she simply had a thing for futuristic stuff, and --
Knock on the door. She looked up. A guy of about her age, smaller, with a red bull cap and collared shirt stood there. "Sup," she said. He was one of the two Nike boys, Julien. She could never pronounce his name right, damn her French.

OOC: She's dressed in orange tee, camo shorts, hiking boots and US army bandanna.

Julien gave a sup nod back, getting his back off of the wall soon after. "Are you by any chance the one named Sawyer around here?" The son of Nike put his hands behind his back, doing his best to look professional and stand still. Which was hard, considering his ADHD (or as he called it ADHHD) was much more severe than the average camper's.

"That's me. What can I do for you?" she asked, putting away her notebook and pens. A lot of people came to cabin 9 to ask for things: weapons, jewels, cool gadgets. What could the son of Victory want, probably the same. Something to guarantee success.

Sastified with the response, Julien began a slow stroll over to the forge-skilled girl. "So, I hear you're talented at making things appear to be what they aren't. Lamps into tridents, keys into swords;" As he got closer to Sawyer, Julien lifted away part of his shirt covering his left pocket and pulled out a standard looking crescent wrench. "But how about a tool, into a blade?"

"Talked with Michaels, haven't ya," she said in her deep voice, taking the wrench to examine it. "I can turn a tool into a blade, that's easy, but are you sure it's a tool you want to be carrying around? Attracts attention. Can be considered a weapon by mortal authorities. And, it's not very practical." She gave him the wrench back. "I'm into wearable tech. Wristbands, glasses, pendants, charms, all that crap. Easy to wear every day, stealthy, cool. I could make that hat of yours turn into a helmet and your collar shirt into a breastplate." She shrugged with her massive shoulders. "I can play around with that wrench if it means that much to you, but I don't think it's a good choice."

Julien laughed, it was clear she didn't know who his dad was. Which was normal - not many Americans cared about endurance racing, and the few that did normally focused on their domestic league. "Oh no; where I go, a wrench is very practical. Ever been to the paddock of a racetrack? Tools everywhere."

"You see, my father has a bit of an intresting career, and it's one I like to follow. But given most races are in Europe, I need a way to conceal this-" he unsheathed his heavily modified xiphos, handing Sawyer the grip to the black and chrome blade; "- so that I can better defend myself from any monsters out there."

Ever been to the paddock of a racetrack? Sawyer didn't reply to that. She had a special love for fast cars, but she was poor, so the only cars she worked on were those in her uncle's garage in Corpus-Christi. This kid was obviously rich, and didn't seem to have a problem gloating about it to someone who was in worn boots and filthy shorts.

She took the blade from him -- nice crafting. "That makes it even less practical," she said. "Careful not to lose it among all the other wrenches. But if that's what you want, I can do that." Walking down the spiral staircase in the middle, she motioned for him to follow her.

Julien followed Sawyer down, keeping a yard or two behind her. "We're talking about Greek swords in a world full of guns and bombs. As for practicality, that's the least of my comcern. And a rubber band should do just fine for keeping the wrench unique. I'm not sure it's even an FIA legal wrench either, so it wouldn't get use anyway."

"Good things the guns and bombs aren't made of celestial bronze," Sawyer answered. Once in the basement, she went over to her workbench and placed wrench and sword on it. After spraying them with a few prep liquids and drenching them in a special oil, she put them in the syncing oven with a pair of tongs. "Should be about five minutes," she told him, starting to clean up her work place from all the scattered papers and blueprints.

"Alright." Julien looked around for a place to sit, but couldn't find anything besides a bench covered with various weapons and armor. So he remained standing. "You mentioned something about turning clothes into armor, right? How does that work?"

"Pretty much the same, except the clothing needs to be prepped up a little more. You also need to code a special gesture into the fabric so that the thing knows when to turn into a breastplate, and when to turn back into a simple tee or jacket," Sawyer explained, putting a few blueprints into a green folder. "Come with me." Walking over to a blank, metal-slatted wall, she put her hand on it. A touch screen appeared, read her finger prints, then let her compose a code before sliding to the side, revealing an empty room.

"Alright." Julien followed Sawyer to the wall and into the room.

The wall slid shut behind them. "Wardrobe 2-6," Sawyer said in a clear voice, and a panel glided upwards, a bar with clothes hangers driving out. Each one of them was carrying a jacket, there was a denim one, a flannel, a fashionable crop one, a glitzy 80s-90s, in short, a lot of them. "All these are armours," she told Julien. "They all turn into standard hoplite breastplates, though the design can vary from one to the other."

"Cool." He stepped forward, about to take a closer look at the garments, when he stopped and turned to Sawyer. "I am allowed to look through these, right?"

"Knock yourself out," she said, and turned around to put her hand on the opposite wall. After selecting a short code, another panel slid up, revealing a fridge. She grabbed a can of soda and cracked it open, turning back to look at Julien and the jackets.

Julien did a visual examination of the various armor-jackets, taking of his glasses and hanging him from his shirt collar. Whether this increased or decreased Julien's perceived d0uchness was Sawyer's call, which she would make when he turned around to face her. "Are these all yours?"

The massive Latina spread her arms. "This is my bedroom, bro, so...yeah. All of those are mine."

Bedroom? Julien stood there, surprised look on his face, eyes blinking. "...Bedroom? At camp?"

She cracked a grin. (Her teeth were the only nice thing in her face: really white and regular, just like her mother's.) "Welcome to the Hephaestus cabin, Bianchi." She then selected another code and the whole room filled with vibrations and mechanical clicks. In no time, furniture had turned out from inside the walls or underneath the floor. A sleek white leather sofa with a back massage option, a low table with foot rest, a desk in the corner, clean and organized... Her bed had driven out of the wall, her sheets printed with a camouflage pattern. Virtual posters of Iron Man and Led Zep shimmered up on the wall and a lava fountain bubbled in one corner in a basin of dark volcanic stones, protected by a glass filter.

OOC: You must really like camouflage patterns, don't you? ;)

BIC: "Well damn..." So this is the upside of being a Hephaestus kid; a private room and all the mechanical skill to work it. Being a kid who had grown up around carbon-fiber cars and motec LCD tachometers, this had to be one of the most impressive things Julien had seen. "Your own room..."

Was he jealous? Yes, and who wouldn't be? It's your own private hideaway at the camp where everyone could easily know everything about everybody, so long as they take the time to listen. A room... a freaking room! At [i]camp[/]! This was the definition of a true luxury.

"Do your siblings also have rooms?"

"Yeah, they do. After our cabin burned down that year Chiron got fired, we all redesigned it and added a lot of extra features.... Including rooms." She made a vague gesture at the space, gulping down some soda. "I've been perfecting this thing for a good couple years and it has different settings: bedroom, study room, game room, home cinema...one or two more. It's not done yet though."

"Damn." Sad story, the torched cabin part, but everyone has a room!!! This was, like, mind blowing to Julien. This was nicer than most of the trailers he had bunked in at circuits, and those were nice trailers! The rooms...they just blew his mind. "Well this wipes Nike's cabin off the map."

"You know I helped design that one, right," Sawyer said with a little grin, sitting down on the couch. As a child of Hephaestus, she had worked a lot on the construction of the new cabins, including Nike's. "Have you ever met ya mom?"

"Really? Thanks. It is a very nice cabin, certainly beats the Hermes cabin any day, but I can't help but give you guys the title of best cabin. I mean, come on, rooms!"

Julien took a seat on the sofa, getting a momentary break from all the standing he had done today. Not that there was anything wrong with his legs, Julien just really wanted to sit. "No, actually. I've been here for seven years and never seen her. First six I just didn't know, and I spent the end of the Titan War sucking on ambrosia passed out in a bed."