I'm Better Than You

Today was lame. It had been sunny. It never was really dark during the summer, and that did not make Haimon happy. He sat on the edge of the platform that the tables stood on, glaring angrily at the ground. Everywhere he looked, small weeds popped up and grew rapidly until he averted his gaze.

Everyone was out, doing whatever they pleased. It was lunch time, and Andreas was incredibly bored. Ajax was at the armory, bullying Hephaestus kids, Cassandra was busy in the woods, no doubt harassing the Satyrs until they practiced woodland magic with her. The dryads only served at dinner, so he went up and got his own food. As he walked by, an unexpected plant appeared under his feet, and he slipped. His tray. . . flew all over that goth son of Persephone.

"Hey!" Haimon yelled, jumping to his feet. There were potatoes and gravy in his hair, and some cold drink all over his shirt. He spat out something green, and shot a deadly glare at the son of Ares who had tripped. "Watch where you step, stupid," he snarled.

Andreas gave a quick glare to Haimon, ripping out the tangled weeds he had tripped on. He threw them into the mess on Haimon. "Can't you even control your powers? Or'd you do that on purpose?" He snapped.

Now covered in dirt on top of the food, Haimon was furious.
"You think I'd go around tripping people with food trays in front of me?!" he demanded, shooting daggers with his eyes. "Yeah, beause I want to be covered in somebody else's lunch. Thanks." He began trying to scrape the gunk off his clothing, but it wasn't cooperating very well.

Andreas rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Daffodil. Go clean yourself off," He shot, turning on heel. "Oh, yeah. Don't trip me again." His eyes flashed dangerously. "I know it wasn't an 'accident'."

It was too tempting. Concentrating, Haimon caused a vine to grow. The plant wrapped itself around Andreas's ankle, making him trip, but it didn't stop there. Soon, it was thick and winding itself around the son of Ares's legs, immobilizing him. He smirked satisfactorily.

Andreas's glare turned fiery. "You better let me go, or I'll. . ." He didn't know how to finish that, but it sounded menacing. Sort of.

"You'll what?" Haimon taunted. He felt powerful like this. Who knew how much longer that was going to last?

Unsheathing a small pocket knife from his jeans, Andy began hacking at the plants. No use. They were too strong. "Or I'll throw this at you. And you may think we're not bright, but we Ares' kids have got some pretty good aim." Pretending to aim at his nose, eyes, and chest, Andreas thought he was going to frighten Haimon.

Andreas thought wrong. The plants tightened, as though they were a live boa constrictor. A vine sprouted from nowhere, snatched the demigod's dagger, and tossed it at Haimon's feet. The teenage boy scooped it up and examined it. He felt its weight, its blade, and then he came to stand over Andreas.
"This is a really nice weapon," he commented, not conciously aware of the vines loosening their grip slightly.

Andreas felt the vines loosen. This was his chance. It was stereotyped that Ares was a big, dumb war machine (which he sometimes was), but he was smarter than most gave him credit for. He knew when to strike. And so did his kids. Andreas kicked his leg straight into the air, knocking the blade out of Haimon's hand. It landed into the woodwork on the Persephone table, damaging a snowflake that was mingling with an Autumn leaf.

Suddenly, the vines were holding him so tight that lines began to appear on his skin. It was almost as though Andreas were strapped to an examination table. Haimon's eyes burned red.
"Nobody," he said in a threateningly soft tone, "insults me or my mother that way." And suddenly, the vines were gone.

Andreas looked to Haimon, afraid that he was about to do something he would honestly regret. No one else was there. Not even a dryad. No one would be there to see. . . Well, the kid had a knife and power over nature. What did Andreas have? His own company? When he was released, he said swiftly, "Thanks." Not the thing to say to an angry person who just barely let you go.

Haimon yanked the dagger out of his lunch table and stroked the rough wood, as though it were alive. Then he turned and threw the dagger; it landed and stuck in the soft ground an inch from Andreas's foot.
"I hope you learned your lesson, son of Ares," he snapped.

Andreas really didn't like this kids foul attitude. It reminded him of an Ajax that had completely lost his deranged sense of humor and smugness. It was just flat arrogance. "No. I haven't." He growled, standing up to Haimon. What had he done wrong? Tripped?

As bad as he was a few moments ago, Haimon flinched when Andreas stepped towards him. He realized that was a mistake.
Gods help me he prayed desperately.

Andreas sidestepped him, and gathered his knife swiftly. "What's wrong, flower-boy? Lose your big boy shorts?" He prodded Haimon's chest with the knife, as to see where his weak spot was.

Haimon winced as the knife tip poked him. He kept waiting for it to slip in between his ribs.
"No, because as fast as you could hurt me, I could have you being buried alive faster," he said bravely, sounding much more confident than he actually felt.

Andreas smirked. But, he could not tell if Haimon was bluffing or not. "I'd like to see you try." That was the best he could come up with? It was worse than big boy shorts.

Haimon raised his arms. Plants of all kinds began sprouting from the ground, creeping slowly towards Andreas.
"Go on," he smirked.

He did the unexpected. . . dun, dun. . . He stepped on the plants, smearing them into his shoe. "Think bigger. Demeter kids could chuck a tree at me. All you can do is sprinkle flowers, leaves. . . or maybe even a wittle snowfwake." He chuckled.

Haimon was pissed, but deep down, he knew Andreas was right. There wasn't anything he really could do, and that hurt. Suddenly, he felt useless. All of the plants retracted.
"You win," he said in defeat.

Andreas laughed. "And you don't even fight back?" He chortled. "Wow, Persephone is the delicate creature everyone says she is. And so are her kids. Or, kid. Seeing how you have no brothers, or sisters." Yet, that was true for a lot of Campers. Ever since Percy Jackson died at age thirty two, the gods had stopped having as many children as they normally did. That caused empty cabins and lonely teenage half bloods.

OoC; Long live Percy Jackson


Haimon's eyes narrowed, but not in a menacing way. It was more like he was studying Andreas, as though the son of Ares was some alien or rare specimen rather than human. Or, technically, demigod.
"You're overshadowed," he randomly said, but it fit with his thought train.