It felt like his legs were going to fall right out of their sockets at any given moment. It was still early in the morning, so not very many people were up yet (not that he expected very many to be, after a Capture the Flag like [i]that[/i]). He hadn't been able to sleep in his bunk, so he'd ventured outside and was sprawled out on a spot of grass in the middle of the quiet camp. As usual, he'd been roped into the game, but had generally used his typical strategy of 'staying back and slacking', but something about yesterday seemed to spur him on more than usual.

Oliver turned onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. His head was pounding. Too much messing around with the Mist to try and disguise himself yesterday probably. It was always harder to convince demigods as opposed to regular folk. 

He stayed like that for a while, enjoying the cool air and soft warmth of the morning sun as it spilled slowly into the camp. Eventually, as more and more people emerged, toting various degrees of injuries, Oliver opened his eyes and pushed himself up. It sounded like breakfast was about to get started. He debated skipping breakfast, but his stomach gave a growl in protest to just the thought, so that was that.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up onto his feet and began to follow the steady, but thin, stream of people as they headed to pavilion. He was still dressed in his pyjamas - a plain, white t-shirt and some orange Camp Half-Blood sweats - as he trudged along, bits of grass and dirt clinging onto his back and hair. Food. He just wanted food. Then probably sleep for the rest of the day.