Welcome to Gaia! ::

Seeing that both of the campers began to swim again, Taylor cupped her hands over her mouth and called out, "Well, it was nice meeting you!" She slipped her flip flops on and decided to see more of the camp.

Allan went back to minding his own buisness, until a voice began yelling in his mind. That woman insulted you and you let her get a way with it? Toughen up and prove her wrong! When the voice was done yelling, Allan began diving down as far as he could go, surfacing and repeating.

After about ten minutes, Allan goes back to the shore and conjures his spear from one of the braceletes on his right hand, and his spartan sheild from the bracelete on his left hand. He takes a combat stance and starts practicing for a few minutes.

Having felt he had made some decent progress, Allan dismissed his spear and sheild, grabbed his shirt and shoes, and made his way back to his cabin.

The satyr caught her during the transition stage. Though it became easier with each visit, she still had trouble doing to accent-dialect switch, as well as the persona change. Already she was caught in the southern accent, but she still used her Southie phrases. The nicer, not secondhand, not thrift store bought clothes still felt odd against her skin. As usual the first week of the switch was the hardest. She was debating on whether to keep the southern accent or go back to Boston. Boston, she decided, because she was up north and therefore the northern accent would work the best.

A boy at the end of the dock caught her eyes. She'd decided to go down to the lake for a walk after dropping her things in the Aphrodite cabin (at least she knew who her real mother was now). Good, time to meet the first person. Almost subconsciously, an easy smile spread across her face as she walked over.

"Hey," she said to the boy, taking the seat next to him. "What's up?"

Natalija smiled, swinging her feet back and forth above the water. Oh, how she loved the water. And it was so much better here up north. Down south it was slow and lazy--sort of like the speech. Not that she minded. She repressed a yawn. God (or, well, gods really) was she tired.

"A'm Natalija," she said, the attempt at a quick switch-back making her accent sound odd. "Wha's your name?"

"Ryan Cahill son of Posiden."