Pyres Burn (Private)

The smell of burning bodies reeked, but it was a small price to pay to give respects to the dead.

Angel Rei and Atticus Young - two Greek campers - had died the night before. In an all-camp capture the flag game (there usually were not enough people in the cabins during the spring months for a “proper” battle of two cabins) the two had confronted a few bloodthirsty campers that got a little too into the combat aspect of the game. A brief autopsy concluded that the cause of death was blood loss via punctured organs.

Nick Mills, son of Apollo, did not know this upon arriving to camp in the morning. Spring break was in full swing for the Washington, DC native and Camp Half-Blood was only a day of train travel away. All he brought was a few changes of clothes, none of them suitable for a wake.

Nick took up a spot towards the back of the arena, watching the pyres burn from afar. A zippo lighter was in his hand constantly being flicked open.

Morgan didn't know anything about the two demigods whose funeral they were having other than their names and that they'd died in camp during a camp sport. At first, she thought it was a bit ironic, seeing as how the camp was supposed to be a safe place for half-bloods of all sorts, but now she was convinced that it was just a bit f***ed up. She hadn't been at camp all that long, a little over a week to tell the truth, but...was this supposed to be normal?

Then the smell of earthy smoke reached her nostrils, overpowering the death stench way ahead of her. She turned toward the source ad was a bit a peeved to see a guy smoking a blunt. "Right now? Seriously?" she groaned quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. Morgan wasn't big on judging how people dealt with emotions, but this was pretty disrespectful in her opinion.

Nick looked up from his Zippo to see Basil with a fat roach rushing toward him.

“Spice, my guy,” Nick said in the most respectful way he could. “Long time no see. What’s the world been up to since last summer?”


Jeffery stared at the pyre of his mortal Angel.

Shameful, the Maine Coon thought. Her body should’ve stayed in those woods, her entrails giving energy to us all.

Jeffery needed another human. Angel was a nice pet, but his true life-companion was still lost. After all, a life-companion would not be burning before his eyes.

The cat scanned the sparse arena, looking for someone to claim as his own. A  lonely girl sat alone on the edge of the fighting ring - perfect for the Maine Coon.

He strutted over and sat before her.

Mortal one, he said, I declare you as my new life-companion. You will defend me, fight for me, care for me, and you will be mine for eternity. Speak, and you will be mine forever.

All Morgan could hear, though, was a single “Mrow.”

“Yeah man, pass that s***.”

Nick put out his hand to intercept the blunt. After taking a drag he handed the doink back to Basil.

“So, you're telling me, Spice, that this is all that happens here? Just people dying?”

Nick picked up blunt.

“I guess I see what you mean.”

He took another hit, coughing a bit as he passed it back.

“Like, is it really that dead in the off season?” He looked around the arena, taking note of the low attendance. “This can’t be everyone here, can it? You’d think they’d at least come out for a bit.”

At the sound of a weird grumble, Morgan looked down at her feet. It was a cat. A cat. What the hell was a cat doing here? "Umm...hi, cat," she said. Talking to cats was fine, but what was a cat doing amog a huge crowd of people while two bodies were burning? She was pretty sure cats weren't social creatures. Weird.

“I don’t know man, cats are crazy things.”

Nick looked out at the cat. The girl looked kinda new, though there were always new faces at camp. She could have been there for years and he just never noticed.

“But yeah, that kinda sucks. What do you do here when it’s dead? And can you pass the blunt, Spice? You’re f***ing up the rotation.”

Nick took some time with his toke, passing it back only when proper reparations had been met.

“Yeah... how do you even do it? Like if it’s so boring, isn’t there somewhere you can go to?”

[If there is not a place, just play it as Nick forgetting.]

“Oh yeah, right. You can keep the roach if you want; it’s kinda useless at that point.”


Then it is done.

Jeffery looked up at the human, letting out a prideful “Mrow” while tapping her foot.

Who are you, life-companion? Do you have a name, or are you forsaken to only mutter dull words?

Morgan stared down at the cat pawing at her foot. What the hell was she supposed to do about this cat? Why was it even here? Was it hungry? "Shoot, do have a collar or something?" she mumbled as she crouched down in front of the cat to check, tentatively reaching her hand out toward its head.

Jeffery stretched up to meet Morgan’s hand.

How dare you deny me of an answer, the Maine Coon “said,” letting out another typical cat vocalization. He did not stop tapping.

Morgan's head whipped around to the source of the question. Oh. The weed guy. Figures. "Not mine," she told him before returning her attention back to the cat in question. As her eyes searched for a collar, she frowned. Where was its real owner? How old was it "Just showed up along with everyone else, I guess." Gods, this fur was thick. Her fingers brushed its scruff as they tried to find purchase on a collar.

Jeffery wears a collar, though it is obscured by his long fur. The license tag is registered as Nassau County, New York #55672 and the contact phone number scratched away. “Jeffery” is eteched into the other side.

“Cool cat,” Nick said as he followed Basil over. “They got a name?”

"Uh..." Finally, Morgan's hand found the collar. She rubbed the cat's ears with her free hand as she pulled the tag free of the thick fur. Her eyes scanned it, reading the punched-in letters. "Says  'Jeffery,'" she said. Morgan released the tag and gave the tabby cat a good look. "Okay, Jeffery," she told him, "I'm Morgan, and I..." She gestured in the direction of the two boys. "...have no idea who these guys are," she added, looking at them questioningly. She was pretty sure she hadn't met either of them yet, but she probably wouldn't have known either way—there were a lot of campers to keep track of.

Nick shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t think cats are loyal enough to go to funerals though. They’ve already struck me as drifters in the wind.”


Morgan, Jeffery vocalized, so that is the mortal’s name. Very well.

He tilted his head in accordance to Morgan’s scratching, a sign to his human that they were doing the proper bidding.

Morgan shrugged. "My Gran had a cat when I was younger," she commented, shooting a glance at No-Name Guy as she rubbed Jeffery's ears. "Weird thing. It would either hide from you the entire time or cling to your leg whenever you walked around. Anyways, that thing would follow Gran all around the house if he saw her stand up." She moved her hand to under its chin. "Cats are weird." She liked this one, though—and it seemed to like her, too.