cymophobia | percy jackson

𝑖𝑖𝑖

Percy was miserable, a feeling he didn't think he'd ever have at camp. He'd had to say goodbye to Chiron and watch Annabeth cry as her mentor for years left. He hadn't gotten to properly talk to Ash; it was like she disappeared as soon as she could and had been avoiding him since. And everyone kept being rude to Tyson, which was infuriating and slightly embarrassing.

Oh and now he was talking to Mr. D, which was never his favorite activity, instead of eating dinner, which was one of his favorite activities.

"This boy," Dionysus spoke to the man next to him, "you need to watch. Poseidon's child, you know."

"Ah!" The stranger said. "That one."

The man in question was pale, horribly skinny, and wearing threadbare orange prison garb. The number over his pocket read 0001 and he was sitting where Chiron usually sat. When he'd entered the dining pavilion, Percy noticed Ash glaring daggers at the man, stabbing at her plate like she was imagining it was his face. Percy disliked him already.

"I am Tantalus," the prisoner introduced. "On special assignment until decided otherwise. And you, Perseus Jackson, I do expect you to refrain from causing any more trouble."

"Trouble?" The boy demanded.

"Yes, trouble. You caused plenty of it last summer, I understand." The man picked up his fork and reached for a piece of brisket, but to Percy's surprise, the whole plate up and skidded away from him, going straight off the table and into the sacrificial brazer.

"You're that spirit from the Fields of Punishment," Percy realized. "The one who stands in the lake with the fruit tree, but you can't eat or drink. You must've done something really horrible when you were alive. What was it?" He couldn't help but be mildly impressed.

Tantalus sneered. "I'll be watching you, Percy Jackson. I don't want any problems at my camp."

"Your camp already has problems... sir."

But it seemed like Tantalus didn't really care about that, because as dinner was wrapping up, he decided to cause even more problems.

"Ahem, I have a few announcements to make. First of all, I'd like to say what a pleasant form of punishment it is to be here with all you... delectable-looking children. There will be some changes to the program this summer! For one, we are reinstituting the chariot races!"

Murmurs of disbelief broke out.

"Now I know," Tantalus continued, "that these races were discontinued some years ago due to, ah, technical problems."

"Three deaths and twenty-six mutilations," Michael Yew called out.

"Yes, yes," Tantalus dismissed. "The first race will be held in three days' time. We will release you from most regular activities to prepare. Oh, and did I mention, the victorious team's cabin will have no chores for the month?"

A flurry of excitement went around until the last person Percy expected to object did so.

"But, sir!" Clarisse stood. Someone had slapped a Post-It on her back that said You moo, girl! "What about patrol duty? I mean, if we drop everything to ready our chariots--"

"Ah, the hero of the day," Tantalus exclaimed. "Brave Clarisse, who single-handedly bested the bronze bulls!"

Some loud scoffs were heard from the Hermes cabin and a faint "Excuse me?" that could only be Ash. Clarisse looked over at them, blushing.

"Um, I didn't--"

"And modest, too!" He grinned. "Not to worry, my dear! This is a summer camp. We're here to enjoy ourselves, yes?"