Results May Vary

Richie Stanford

Son of Dionysus

The campfire was starting to die at exactly 10pm. The Apollo crooners finished their song to the usual applause and were working to stop the smoulders. Meanwhile, the counselors were ushering their kids toward their cabins under the spots of moonlight, yawns and soft talking filling the center area. One such counselor was Richmond Stanford.

He had his arms crossed and watched as his only other sibling, a new boy named Lennie, stumbled disasterously across the yard toward their cabin. It didn't have any holy glow like Apollo's, no bright plumage like Aphrodite or Demeter, and it certainly wasn't adorned with the fires of the Hades cabin, but it was rustic and boring enough that you could pick it out just by a lack of decoration.

Richie watched his brother awkwardly bump into a statuette, apologise, and finally reach the deck, opening the screen door and slamming it closed as he most likely fell to his bed next to the door.

The other children were disappearing to their cabins now, and that just left the campers. Of course they spoke of this Demigod Grand Prix, still in the works. It was supposed to go across from Camp Jupiter on the west coast all the way back home - somehow. The course involved water and air of all things. And hearing the other counselors so ecstatic left Richie with a question - Who would represent Dionysus?

Maybe Dionysus would pick a different child - someone older who wasn't attending camp. Maybe Lennie. Probably not him - after all, they had gotten off on the wrong foot and he always seemed so tired of Richie. He never expressed any true care.

"I'll turn in early tonight, okay? Lennie looked a little sick." Richie waved numbly and stood up, chorused by various 'Later's as he crossed the dim field. In his hurry to the cabin for a good night's sleep, he noticed one of Lennie's sandals lodged in a patch of muddy earth next to the statue he'd bumped into and gave a short chuckle, picking it up and continuing to the old wooden cabin.

When he mounted the stairs, he almost screamed.

Someone was there.

A bearded man in a leopard jacket, sipping a can of coke. He looked up and nodded, patting the seat next to him on the porch.

"Hi, dad." Rich groaned, flopping down on the chair.

"Hi, son." Dionysus imitated, reaching under the chair and conjuring a small glass. He passed it over to his son, who examined it and noted that it was just a glass. Completely empty.

"...Dad, I can't drink air."

"But I know you can conjure up a drink. Go ahead, no one's looking."

Richie looked around hestantly and placed his hand over the glass. With a short whistle, a spout of gin fell from a space in the air. When the glass was a quarter full he stopped the dripping and took a sip, enjoying the somewhat bitter taste. He still wasn't that good at it, apparently.

"What's that look for? It can't be that bad." Dionysus reached over for the glass and Richie dumped it on the deck.

"Dad, you know you aren't supposed to drink on camp grounds."

"Never stopped you before."

"Well, I'm counselor now. That's a lot of responsibility. And quite frankly, Lennie can't handle the duties, so I have to be able to keep my position."

"Good on you, son." Dionysus took a reluctant sip of his coke, a bit upset that his son had stopped sneaking him liquor, but said nothing. He was growing up.

"So," Dionysus began, setting the drink down on the small sidetable between him and his son. "I figure you heard about the Grand Prix?"

"Who hasn't?" Richie laughed lightly, but felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in anticipation.

"Point taken. But since you're my oldest son I'm still in contact with," Dionysus breathed, his hand still hovering the coke. He didn't dare look at his sun and instead chose to look over the line of parallel cabins, their lights shutting off one by one. "I want you to represent me."

The leftover gin in Richie's mouth was promptly spit onto the porch's boards and he could hear his father laughing quietly. That was a first - usually the only time he really smiled was when he used to come by the cabin and Richie would sneak him a drink or two outside. But laughing?

"Seriously?" He asked, cluthing his knees and looking over to his father, who closed his eyes and shrugged.

"Yeah, seriously. You're the only one I've got." Dionysus sighed, clearing his throat. That shattered a bit of Richie's newfound confidence, but he was still pumped to be the representative for the Grand Prix.

"I already spoke to your mom about it and she approves. She even sent me a base for your car." My head perked up even more when Dionysus stood up and extended a hand for me. "We were keeping it behind the Hephaestus cabin. Since I couldn't get us up to Olympus without questions being asked, I figured I could just drag you over there."

I nodded stoically and followed him off the porch. We passed the campfire, where the cabin counselor for Hephaestus was still poking the embers with his steel-toed boot.

"Heeey, Mr. D." The counselor said mildly as we passed. "It's in the back. Don't worry, nobody touched it." Dionysus nodded a quiet 'thanks' and traced a path to Hephaestus' cabin, hurrying around to the back before any of the awake campers saw us.

Covered in a white tarp, impeccably clean despite the rain from earlier, was the car. I whisked the white cover off and revealed it in all its beauty.

It was a futuristic car, that was for sure, a Cadillac Cien. It was a deep, royal purple with an artfully painted leopard on the side. The top of the car had a sunroof that could be opened with a deactivated rapid fire machine gun, something military grade. It was a little shocking, to be fair.

"Oh wow." Richie said, reached out to touch the car. Behind him, Mr. D procured the keys from his jacket pocked and dropped them in his sons palm, a little pride shining through his voice.

"It's modified especially for you, Mr. Stanford. It can run on your hydro-energy, the alcohol and water you move, and once you reach the water course it will be able to run fluently on the surface - with some mild paint damage, if anything." Richie nodded again, clicking the small remote on the keys and watching the door open vertically. Inside it was lit, a small GPS had been activated, and the dark interior was especially welcome.

He could sleep in this car.

"I've managed to sneak a few RPGs in the back as well. Just a few. The windshield can be deactivated if you wish to use that pistol of yours." The god continued, running his hand along the hood. "The car also acts as a prism - it can reflect light and project it in the colors of the rainbow. You can blind people."

"Dad...I...." Richie paused, ducked into the vehicle. On the dash he noticed a picture of his mother and father, standing off the edge of the beach. It was oddly calming, somehow, seeing his father as just a man, and not a god.

"No need, son." The god had conjured another coke and held it to his lips. "You'll need the best mortal money can buy. After all, you're representing all of my kids."

"Yeah, all three of us." Dionysus rolled his eyes and the comment and produced a packet of papers from his shirts, tossing them at his son. "Take a look over it - it's something your mother whipped up."

Richie decided to humor him and turned the pages delicately. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of knowing how to be careful, stopping at stop signs, knowing his turn signals. Mrs. Stanford obviously didn't know this was a high speed, high action race.

"I get it, Dad." He said, refolding the papers and throwing them into the pssenger seat. "Blah blah, terms and conditions apply, results may vary."