Damon's Bunk

Seriously, though--they should really build more cabins.

Damon was lying on his back in his bunk, a Doom Patrol comic book in front of his face, trying to avoid getting maimed or killed to the best of his ability. He'd nearly died about eight times on the way back from the mess hall (one involving a blue fire hydrant and a tabby kitten) and his bunk was about the most secure place in the camp.

Why couldn't they build more cabins? He'd do it himself, if the need arose.

Just stay calm. Just keep reading. Mind your own business.

....then something blew up across the room. "Seriously?" Damon shouted, covering his face with his arms in defense. "What's up with demigods and explosives?"

Why couldn't somebody just freakin' build more cabins?!

OOC: A few weeks later....

Thanks the gods--someone had finally built more cabins. That was awesome. He had seriously almost died packing up his stuff and leaving #23.

He chose a bunk near the front of the cabin--all unoccupied, seeing as there were no other children of minor war gods around camp. Yet. Until then, he could read his comic books in peace.