Xander Christopoulos+Percy Jackson (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} followyourgut) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} thereincarnates,@ 2013-03-28 19:31:00 |
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WHERE: Camp Half-Blood. Or what's left of it.
WHEN: March 28th, early evening.
WHAT: Xander's trying to clean and rebuild, Penny's checking on him.
WARNINGS: Probably some language. Mild stuff.
It felt like forever and just yesterday that camp had been attacked and reduced to rubble--or, at least, what seemed like rubble. A good portion of the camp was still standing, a testament to just where Rob Strange was trying to hit them. And as Xander stood in front of the pile of debris that had one been Poseidon's cabin, it was very clear where his asshole sperm donor was going with it. Two of the Big Three had their cabins destroyed, the fleece was gone, and now monsters could easily enter their once-safe haven to do more destruction. For somebody who enjoyed chaos and destruction the way Rob and Ares did, there was certainly a lot of battle strategy in this plan. He wondered if Athena would be proud.
Xander was dirty, and sweaty, and clearly exhausted from an entire day of labor, but he was pushing his enhanced stamina and strength to the limit to get as much work done as he could. It would have been easy to use his powers to wash away the mess into the sea, but he couldn't allow himself to do that. Being able to talk to the creatures in the sea made it a bit harder on your subconscious when it came to dumping garbage in the water. So he'd been forced to do it the old-fashioned way--manual labor.
The dumpster was already close to being full, and it had been fun explaining to the delivery guy just what exactly was going on there. The mist only worked so well, and without the fleece to protect it, the camp was visible to everybody. Good for clean-up, bad for secrets. Somehow his concocted story of a summer camp for book lovers that got destroyed by Hurricane Sandy kept the guy from being suspicious. Thank the gods.
He sighed, lifting a board that should have been too heavy for a teenaged boy to pick up and tossing it into the dumpster. It slammed down with a crack that echoed across the camp grounds, already less vibrant and green without the fleece keeping it alive. There were spots starting to form in his vision when he exerted himself, a sure sign of exhaustion creeping in. With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the remnants of his cabin and wiped sweat from the crease of his brow.
You don't look so hot, boss.
Xander smirked. Blackjack. Of course he'd come investigate. "I'm good. Don't worry."