Okay, first thing you should know: Don't tell anyone. Sure you've heard of (What is it? Peter Johnson? Oh!) Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, yadda, yadda, yadda. Well, my story might sound the same, but trust me, I am no Percy. I am Jaya, daughter of Zeus, and a general of the Amazon warriors. If you tell anyone, I swear I will hunt. You. Down. Now that the formalities are out of the way, let the story begin. Just remember, I am Jaya, and this is my story.
I woke up to the sound of my watch alarm beeping. I opened my eyes to the sight of my cluttered room, with clothes and armor randomly thrown about. Luckily, there was nothing embarrassing (underwear, etc.) on the floor, or strung on top of lamps, chairs, or chests. I groaned, and rolled off my bed. I managed to fail at that (wow, that takes talent!), and landed on my face. I crawled over to my closet and grabbed a pair of grey cargo skinny jeans and a white poet's shirt, which I slipped on quickly. I then grabbed a chest plate, a chain mail skirt, and a helmet, and put those on to. I grabbed my watch, which had stopped that obnoxious beeping, and my quiver of arrows and hurried out the door, putting them on as I walked. I attempted to run my fingers through my hair, but my hand caught.
Ugh, I forgot to brush my hair and comb my teeth. Or is it comb my hair and brush my teeth? I sighed. I was always scatterbrained in the morning. I turned on my heels, and started speed-walking to my quarters. When I reached my room, I dropped my quiver on the bed and walked to my bathroom door. It led to a small bathroom with only a sink, a toilet, and a tiny shower. Nothing fancy. I looked at my reflection, and sighed. I had hopelessly tangled medium-length caramel hair that reached my shoulder blades, light green eyes, and tan (ish) skin. My nose was small and a teeny bit pointed and my lips were small and a super pale pink. I quickly yanked half my hair out with my comb (JK), and scrubbed my teeth with the ferocity of a true warrior.
After I was done, I scrambled back to my bed, stupid slippery carpet, tossed my quiver over my shoulder, and left. I ran down to the kitchen, where Miah, the cook, tossed me an apple. I caught it as if we had done this every morning for twelve years, which we had. Miah was seventeen, a year older than me, and had been my friend for the afore mentioned twelve years that I had been part of the Amazons. I had joined when I was four, they had something called a 'Junior Training Program,' about two months after Zohee (It's Chinese. Pronounce it like Zoe.) had found me on the street, where she had witnessed my mother's disowning of me. Zohee was fifteen at the time, and already a member of the Amazon warriors.
Anyway, Miah threw me an apple, grinning from ear to ear, yelling "Catch!" from across the kitchen. I smiled cheekily when I caught it. "Thanks!" I yelled back, already leaving the hot room. From there I went straight to the stables, where I dug around in a large pile of hay for a minute before pulling out my bow. Most of the horses were out in the field behind the stables, but the three that were left whinnied nervously at the sight of my weapon.
"You'll have to do better than that, Issac!" I said loudly, seemingly to no one. "Don't I know it, love," drawled a familiar Irish voice. Issac was taken prisoner by some Amazons, who had caught him trying to steal a horse. I wouldn't blame him either. He was eleven, he loved horses, he wasn't loved by his stepfather, his mother died, and he was depressed. For a kid his age, it was the perfect concoction for mischief. We were originally just going to send him to the prison, but being the Irishman he was, he struck a deal with us. We let him stay in one of the smaller rooms, feed him, and let him keep his dogs, and he would be our stable hand, plus he would hunt and help out in the kitchens.
I remember the first time I met him, about a month after he made the deal.
"Yay. Yayyay. Yayyayyayyayyay!" I squealed, much like the energetic eleven-year-old I was. Today was the day that I got my very. Own. Horse! "Are there any white ones? Ooh! What about black ones?" I said, talking at a million miles an hour. Zohee sighed, and gestured vaguely towards the stables. "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up," she stated quietly. I bounced, nodded, and ran towards the stables. I, even at eleven, was not usually this childish. I was simply extremely excited to be getting a horse. When I reached the stables, I leaned on one of the gates to catch my breath.
When I looked up, I saw a boy, about my age, with brown eyes and dark brown hair that was almost black. He was wearing a pink shirt, and leaning on a rake (The heavy-duty kind, used for cleaning horse stalls.). I raised an eyebrow, and said demandingly, "Aren't you supposed to be cleaning, stable boy?" Said boy grinned at me, as though he thought I was funny. "No, I just finished."
Umm, okay. "Question: Why are you wearing a pink shirt?" He laughed. "It's designer." He stated, as if it was obvious. Well, let's just say I decided to have some fun with him. "Isn't that the gay pride color?" BURN. I smirked. "No! That's rainbow!" He yelled frantically.
"Well you two are being as thick as bricks," said Zohee, mocking the boy's Irish accent, who told me later on that she had been watching most of the exchange. "I see you've met Issac, our stable hand."
"Hey, Issac." I grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Where's Clover?" Clover was my chestnut filly. She had a reddish brown coat, black mane and tail, and black stockings on her legs. "Fattening herself up, eh?" said Issac playfully. "In English, please? I'm too tired to understand your Irish-ese." Issac looked confused, because he hadn't really talked in Irish-ese. "What do you mean?" he asked.
I clucked my tongue. "Oh, young Issac. I mean, since when is it possible for Clover to get fat? She is a magical horse, you know. So, I figured that you were using some sort of Irish slang." Issac rolled his eyes. "That was a pretty lame joke, you know." He stated. I heard a barking from behind me, and turned around, welding my bow, which I loaded quickly. I could faintly hear Issac laughing in the background, but I was fully focused on the creature that was attacking me. The skinny grey animal ran towards me, and pounced, knocking me over. "Oof!" I said quietly while the savage beast pawed me in the stomach, before I fell on my buttocks. "Good girl, Chyanne!" yelled Issac encouragingly. I sighed and patted his Irish wolfhound affectionately. "So the Jaya-Chyanne war continues," I muttered under my breath.
Okay! Third story! Aren't you guys proud of little Hazel? ^_^ Tell me if Jaya seems mary-sue ish. But, just so you know, her weaknesses, and more details about her mother and past, will be revealed later on. :3 Tell me, do you want funny line breaks like in Breaking the Rules? (My other story.) Byez!