So there he was, standing a midst within the crowd of blue and red clad demigods, making twirls, leaps, pirouettes and what have you with the melody of the music playing from the giant speakers of the stereo.

Hudson decided he wanted to be the Prince of Verona, since he always gets the crap end of the stick dealing with brats like Romeo in his city. He didn't really like the theme of choosing between the Capulets or the Montagues, since they were both terrible tyrant run families with rebellious teenage offspring. Then again, that description pretty much went along with most of the demigods in this place.

He decided since no one really wanted to take an old hairy guy to the Valentines Dance, he went stag. He didn't expect other satyrs to come around to attend these kinds of dances, since they are pretty much forest recluses when it comes to demigod ridden events.
But Hudson's been socializing and catering to these assholes for so long. He might as well have enjoy the magically served punch in a bowl and converse with some of them.

He looked over at the largely spanned dance floor filled with half-bloods with their best wear, all clad in red and blue. They held hand to hand with their partners and held them by waists or dipping them down to the tip of the floor.
Man, if Hudson can find a dancing partner to do the tango with him, he would be more then ecstatic. Hell, his life would just be complete.

But he stood there, with his puffy pant-shorts and hat, along with some decorative gleaming armor, and sipped his magical tasting punch as he watched the kids dance their 'booty' off.
"Damn this joint, I got a city to maintain anyway." He leaned against the food stand, giving out an exasperated sigh.

"Hey Prince, would you mind being not being a royal pain in the ass and moved away from the punch bowl?"

Hudson looked over at the individual who had interfered and assaulted his royal presence and found a looming tall figure wearing a nun's headdress with a maid's outfit.
"Hey, hey, hey. Who do you think you are? Learn your place, you pesky servant!" He crossed his arms and looked up at the tall individual with a stern expression on his face.
Obviously, the scenerio might have looked ridiculous to some people with the shortest goat man in the world telling a average teenage boy off. It was supposed to be, he needed some attention.

Marion had woke up 5 in the godsdamn morning to pick out a stupid outfit for him to wear. Was it really worth the early rising? Well, he was just there to find out.
He had decided to be one of the sassiest characters of the Shakespearean play; the Capulet Nurse.
Yes, the lady who has to put up with 'the baby who had to suck from her own teat' and her relationship problems.

Marion was starting to get bored. It felt like he shouldn't have made the efforts to get a bland set of wardrobe just to attend this sort of dance. People were together with their dates, dancing in their nice ballgown dresses or well tailored tuxedos. He was just stuck here in a nurses' outfit, awkwardly maneuvering around the dance floor.
Wow Marion, you look completely lame just walking around in a dress in the middle of a slow dance. He thought to himself as he looked around the crowd of other demigods around him.

Back before he entered camp, he always had a group of friends with him. Attending school dances didn't seem as boring when you were around people to at least converse with. Marion had been far too busy training himself to even make friends around here, but now he just feels more of an outcast then he ever did in his school years.
But really, how do these demigods intent to dance around and have fun when they were supposedly in a middle of a war? What if Kronos happened to crash this party with his monster army?
That was what he was truly paranoid about, really.

Marion just shook his head and continued on to the food stands. He really needed to stop thinking so pessimistically in what was supposed to an atmosphere of joy. Now he just needed a drink.

As he approached to the punch bowl, a satyr in a costume was blocking the way from having a nice cool drink.
"Damn this joint, I got a city to maintain anyway." He overheard the satyr as he began to lean against the table in front of the punch bowl.
By his sentenced, he assumed that he was dressed up as the Prince of Verona, with his poofy hat and gleaming armor.
He must have been as bored as he was, just watching the others dance. Nonetheless, it was no excuse to just hog all the juice.
Marion marched over to confront him, "Hey Prince, would you mind being not being a royal pain in the ass and moved away from the punch bowl?"

The satyr looked up at him and gave him a stern expression, giving him the royal stink-eye.
"Hey, hey, hey. Who do you think you are? Learn your place, you pesky servant!"
Marion had raised an eyebrow, looking down at the short satyr.
This must have been one ridiculous scenario, especially with this type of crowd.
But Marion had to break it to him, he knows how to play the part. Looking at the features of the satyr, he seemed well aged, and responsible enough to rule over an entire kingdom.