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	Demetrius wised up and went to take care of registering himself so the administration knew he was present and not having someone else sign in for him like he tried to do his first year. Cordial nods were returned to those who addressed him, and he went into the dorm halls to find his place of residence for the upcoming year. He'd hoped his fish had survived the long summer: Mr. and Mrs. Krakken were some feisty goldfish, Mrs. Krakken always bossed Mr. Krakken around, and Demetrius was sure Krakken Jr. had lost all respect for his father. What a dysfunctional family they were. Demetrius tossed some feed in the tank for his beloved trio and got to the business of tidying up his living quarters. There were still some left-over Hawaiian shirts and jean shorts from last year stashed away in his closet. He threw on the brightest Hawaiian shirt he could find (an annoying flush yellow) and frayed jean shorts. A pair of blue flip flip flops finished the outfit and before he knew it he resembled the finest middle-aged, gold-hunting-with-a-metal-detector-on-a-beach man he knew. At least he didn't wear socks and flip flops.

	He didn't have a phone so there was little to distract him from the silence of his room apart from the swell of chatter among his peers outside the door. He shut his door for a while and reclined on his bed with hands resting behind his waist length 'locks. The rain hadn't stopped; Demetrius wondered if Athena and his pops were having another argument--or maybe today was Tuesday? He never recalled his dad enjoying Tuesday much. It was all arbitrary either way. Tension was brewing among the Pantheon, and he--and no doubt his siblings--could feel it. Things were about to change, and Demetrius only hoped they changed for the better. Nothing good ever came out of his aunts and uncles fighting one another. [i]Goodness,[/i] Demetrius thought, [i]will it ever end?[/i]. It wasn't something he could concern himself with right now--all he wanted was some sleep and quiet. A good song always did it for him; he began whistling a sea shanty to himself:

[i]So we’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!
An’ we’ll roll the golden chariot along!
So we’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!
An’ we’ll all hang on behind![/i]

A smile crossed his face as sleep fell over him. A vivid dream about the ocean's deep.