- Nota Bene:
(I've decided to go ahead and introduce Diddy J as an NPC, since I'm not really interested in playing him full time and I figure that other people might have fun with some less-than-orthodox "prophecies" at some point in the future. I can make an NPC form for him later if people want one for reference.)
Lyca steeled herself as she entered Cabin Seven. On the whole, she didn't have any problems with Apollo's kids. Sure, their dad had once chased hers all around Greece in a blind rage over having his stupid cows stolen, but it had ended up fine, and on the whole the Cabin Seven kids were some of the best at this stupid camp. There were, however, painful exceptions. The most notable of these was Jubal Kim, or as he preferred to be called, Diddy J.
Diddy J wasn't a bad guy, really. Lyca doubted he had a mean bone in his body. But
di immortales, was he
annoying! He was also indispensable. Diddy J, for all his absurdities, was a genuine seer. Generally, those among Apollo's children who were unlucky enough to be born with the gift of prophecy didn't last long. The gods, Zeus in particular, didn't like freelance soothsayers, who tended to have a nasty habit of telling gods' spouses who their significant other was significant othering at the moment, and with the only major oracular spirit still around already spoken for, seeing the future was a dangerous gift to have. Diddy J had neatly sidestepped this problem by becoming an oracle himself: specifically, the oracle of Koalemos, god of stupidity, who Diddy had conned into offering divine sponsorship. Lyca assumed he'd been chosen because he was the only god dumb enough for Diddy to fool.
There was no putting it off anymore. "Diddy J? I have to talk with you." There was no response. Lyca sighed. "Yo," she said, feeling like an idiot, "I need to talk to you, my homedog."
At the back of the cabin, a boy stood from the bed he'd been lying on. He looked like a Korean scarecrow who did all his shopping at the Big and Tall store. His jeans sagged precipitously, revealing orange polka-dotted boxers, which also seemed to be sagging in an extremely worrying fashion. His upper body utterly vanished in the folds of a massive Wiz Khalifa hoodie, and he wore pink shutter shades along with three separate pairs of Beats by Dre headphones, one over his ears and two around his neck. His shoes were Nikes, in eye-burning colors that Lyca had no name for. He swaggered over to Lyca, and for a moment she was horribly certain that his boxers really would fall down. "Lyca!" he said just a little too loudly. "Wassup, girl? Haven't heard from you in forever. How you been?"
"In jail," she replied.
"Aw, day-um, girl, that's so cool! Get any ink in the clink, yo?"
"Um, no, yo. Listen, Diddy. I need a prophecy. Unofficial, on the DL, you got me?"
"Yeah, yeah. On the DL, I feel." Diddy grinned. "What you gonna pay me for it? Prophet don't work for free, you feel?"
Lyca leaned in close. "You give me a prophecy, and I won't tell anyone you aren't really from Detroit."
Diddy's eyes widened. "How did you... Shit. Claudia, right?" Lyca nodded. "That bitch. Okay, okay, one prophecy, here it comes..." He cleared his throat and began to rap. Lyca cringed.
“Yo, I’m Diddy J, son of Apollo,
That bad demigod wit’ the real sick flow,
I got prophecies, from my dad you know,
So lemme tell you bitches how—"
"Diddy," Lyca interrupted. "The prophecy?"
"Prophecy." Diddy sighed. "Okay, yeah, prophecy, right. Here we go again."
"Six demigods rollin’ from the hood,
The thief of tales tryin’ to make good,
The pale one and the son of the wood,
Two angels and the devil doin’ what they shouldn’t—"
"Oh, come on, that's not a rhyme. There's an 'n't' on the end!"
"Hey, freestyle prophecies are friggin' hard, yo. Cut me some slack and shut up, 'aight? Anyway..."
"Yeah, they’ll steal what was stolen once before.
But remember I tol’ y’all what’s in store
When you finally reach that farthest shore:
Yeah, you can choke on what you swore!"
Diddy J threw up his hands as he finished, and seemed disappointed when nobody applauded. "There, that's- Wait, shit, something's—" He froze and stood ramrod straight, and his eyes went completely white. The mystical image was somewhat ruined by Diddy's pants falling down around his ankles. Lyca offered a prayer of thanks to any god responsible that his boxers stayed up. Diddy himself didn't seem to notice as he began to recite.
"Whoever seeks to flee her fate,
Will find herself in dire strait.
The ring of shadows, bound to death,
Will steal the wolf’s own stolen breath.”
As soon as the last words left his mouth he sagged like a marionette after a show. He stumbled forward, his legs tangled in his jeans, and he fell to the floor of the cabin. After a few seconds or writhing, he managed to get himself back on his feet and his jeans at least midway up his thighs. "Shit, that was weird. Anyway, one prophecy, as requested. We cool now?" Lyca nodded and hurried away from Cabin Seven as fast as her legs could carry her.
Home 
by 
CAMP COUNSELORS:
