CHBNET EVENT 24: CROSSOVERS
It’s time for our next round of Capture the Flag!
ABOUT THIS GAME:
Our next event is Crossovers! We are encouraging campers to help their teams and their cabins by editing, creating art, or writing for any crossovers between the Riordanverse and another fandom! This event is open to all creators and will span two months, ending on Friday, July 1st. All campers are free to participate, but are under absolutely no obligation to do so!
TO PARTICIPATE:
- Reblog this post
- Make a creation, and use this description:
@chbnet event 24 → crossovers
{quote / desc}
- Tag us in your creation with the tag #chbnetwork
While our events are open to all, we would love to have you over at Camp Half-Blood! If you’re interested in joining us & helping your team win Capture the Flag, you can enter here!
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The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.
Nico’s a fan.
Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.
What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.
“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.
Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”
“Well fuck you, then.”
She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”
It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.
“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”
“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”
Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.
“Just — tell me where Will is.”
“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”
Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.
“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”
Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.
As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:
ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.
(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)
In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:
Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.
The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.
Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.
“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”
“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”
“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”
“Ah. And the music…”
“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”
“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.
“Yeah!”
…Very, very weakly.
“…Okay.”
Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.
“You’re such a dweeb!”
“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”
Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.
…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.
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