Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires

The forest was quieter than a cemetery, and Lez inwardly cringed at the use of that particular simile. Library, she thought sullenly, people think of libraries when it’s quiet. It wasn’t really quiet there, though: there was always the sound of pages turning, or shoes padding across the floor, or someone sneezing—not completely quiet.

“This is why people think you’re depressed,” she muttered to herself as her hand fished into her jacket. “That and the cigs.” Speaking of which, her thin fingers finally found her pack of ‘Wides, which she immediately pulled out. As she opened the pack with one hand, she grabbed for her lighter in the pocket of her jeans. Lez would never deny the fact that she smoked; everyone in camp knew about it ever since she’d first been caught about a year after she’d arrived, and it wasn’t something she was ashamed of. She liked to smoke, so she did. It was that simple.

The non-simple part was that absolutely no one seemed okay with this, which meant that she had to sneak out of camp.

After she finally located her Zippo, Lez pulled out a single cigarette and placed it between her folded lips, a habit she’d gained from sharing with other people and not wanting to taste everyone’s saliva. She then cupped the end of the cigarette and brought the lighter to it, sucking sharply as she did so. Once the cig was lit, she exhaled the smoke through her nostrils. She hadn’t had one all day because a certain Jason Sungo had been dogging her about her habit even more so than usual. It was late, so she figured she had a good fifteen minutes to herself under the night sky.

"You just couldn't help yourself for one day, could you?" Jason asked, from the distance. He was told to set up the boundaries for Sunday's Capture the Flag match. He wrapped tape around the tree, cutting of his final piece, and walked over to her. "Never can help yourself. Even as a Cabin Leader, you still choose to not follow the camp rules. I won't continue to go on, I think you get the idea. While you're here, why don't you help me out with this?" he looked around for the other tape roll. He was pretty tired of doing this, he had been at it for a matter of hours. He was wearing no shirt and shorts, dying in the summer heat from the daytime. Luckily, it was cool now.

Lez rolled her eyes dramatically, but snuffed the ash-covered butt against a tree trunk. “No, but at least I can help myself from walkin’ around camp half-naked,” she retorted, letting her irritation drip into her voice. Ever since she had become Cabin 22’s leader, Jason had been dogging her even more so than usual about her habit (because it sure as hell wasn’t an addiction) and breaking the camp rules. Groaning a bit, she waved her cancer stick in the air until it cooled enough for her to put it back in the pack. “Since you’ve already interrupted my evening, I guess I might as well,” she said as she stuffed her pack back into her jacket and strode towards him.

"I took off my shirt because it was hot as Hades here earlier. No one was around, smartass." Jason grinned. "Interrupted your evening by telling you not to smoke? Must've been a very boring evening then." He said, looking around on the ground. "I'm trying to find the rest of the tape, I completely forget where I would've put it..." he said, thinking.

“Mhmm,” Lez hummed as she kicked at some loose earth with her shoe. “Besides, it was a peaceful evening—and I don’t get many of those anymore. Goddamn dreams.” Lez understood that all demigods had dreams; that wasn’t exclusive to her and her half-siblings. However, she doubted that anyone else had recurring nightmares of Tartarus being unleashed on earth and the twisted bodies of campers beig ripped apart. It wasn’t very pleasant. “Maybe you should check your pockets,” she suggested, trying to get her mind focused on something else.

"A tape roll would not fit in my pocket," Jason said. "Anyway, what have you been dreaming of?" he asked, continuing to survey the ground. "On a scale from demigod to psychotic, how bad are they?"

Shit. She'd been sort of hoping he'd fall for that; instead, he had to ask about That One Thing she was trying to ignore. F*cking spectacular. "Crazier than Jared Leto's method actin'," Lez admitted as she started looking for that roll of tape. "Monsters, dead stuff, the camp on fire....the usual shit on steroids, really." Were he anyone else, she would have stopped at that; however, Jason happened to be one of her best friends, and she knew he'd flip out if he later found out she'd kept it from him. "I don't want to freak you out, but I think I saw my dad, like he's tryin' to tell me somethin'." Dumbass. Way to look batshit crazy. "Probably just dreams, though," she added, knowing that she didn't sound convinced of it at all. "Don't worry."

"Hey, I'm having dreams about world domination and my life is in danger, but don't worry. That sounds pretty extreme, Lez, I'd go to Chiron or someone about that." He leaned against a tree. "Usually demigod dreams aren't that extreme, that's borderline mental institution, and I think we need to investigate further. What would your dad be trying to tell you, life is going to end as we know it?" he felt bad for the extreme measures her dreams were taking.

Lez shrugged once more. "My dad's not the best when it comes to talking to me or his other kids," she said, trying not to feel like a complete and utter dumbass for spouting about her dreams. "He's done this a couple times before. His way of saying 'shit's gonna go down' is by sendin' weird-ass messages through dreams—but this could also be his way of saying 'hi, I'm a pretty decent dad if I visit by screwin' around with your head every once in a while.' It's not very helpful." Lez snorted a bit as her eyes scanned the ground. "Is that it?" she asked, pointing.

"Well, you wouldn't expect the god of death to be a very social person," Jason pointed out. "I'd go insane if I spent all my time talking to dead people and being Hades' righthand man. I still think you need to tell Chiron, just in case." He looked over at where she was pointing. "Yeah, that'd be it, I don't know how I didn't see it," he said as he picked it up, dusting the leaves off of it.

“Eh—that’s a bit of a stereotype. He’s normally a pretty nice guy, just a shitty dad,” Lez said, “but most godly parents are, so I’m not complainin’.”  She fingered her pack idly as she thought on Jason’s words. “Well, you’re the magic expert. Guess I’ll talk to Chiron about it later.” She didn’t like making a big deal out of something, even if that something was crazy demigod dreams that could possibly be prophetic. Sometimes she wished her dad sent Christmas cards instead. That’d be nice. “It is dark outside and the roll was covered by dirt,” she pointed out. Oh, now she was being nice? This was turning out to be an odd night.