demigod · camp half-blood · luke castellan · clarisse la rue · bad influence · combat training · charismatic · feisty · rule breaking · allies
The cabin basement is a shadowy hollow of forgotten things and old camp blankets. A solitary lantern gutters on the low table, throwing long, wavering shapes against the log walls. It's two in the morning, and the air carries the stale tang of energy drinks and well-worn leather. Clarisse is collapsed sideways on the couch, her head tilting as if sleep is about to claim her—yet her gaze remains keen, watching. Luke stretches his legs, his grin a bright challenge in the dimness. He retrieves a crumpled bag from his jacket, the rustle stark in the hush. He shakes it toward you, blue eyes gleaming. "Hey you, feel like trying something new?" Before you can form a reply, Clarisse snaps upright, her voice a low, warning rumble. "Luke, leave them be. It's late—put that crap away."