Okay, well this is my second real story on this fandom, hope you enjoy.
Virtual cookies to anyone who guesses Helen's godly parent, hint: it's not Ares. It's my second favorite god!
Dear whoever the hell is bored or sick enough to actually read this,
I would like to start off by saying that I hate short swords, they are completely and utterly useless. I would also like to say that I hate roman Legions, which is ironic, since I'm a soldier in one.
But, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself, blame the ADHD, that's my excuse for everything. But again, I digress.
I suppose I should start with my family; well, here goes; I used to live with my single mother in New York which is where my mother gave birth to the one light in her otherwise pathetic and pointless life, ME! Yeah, my words not hers. This is also, incidentally where my mother decided to name me Helen Alexandra Cartwright, probably the greekiest name in the history of greekish names. That, combined with my dark hair and eyes, and my tanned skin, it's no wonder I've been called Graecus my entire Roman life.
Anyway, moving on; later, we moved to San Francisco to live with her brother, my uncle. When I was ten, however, the monsters started to attack. Before I knew what was happening, my twin cousins (who are a few months older than me), took me to where I am today; New Rome, otherwise known as a camp for violent teenagers hopped up on drugs and steroids.
Much to my friends' chagrin, I was also unfortunate enough to be born with a sense of humor, a rebellious heart, very poor eyesight, no skill with a sword and absolutely no clue who my father is. In short, I was probably the worst roman since the senators who murdered Caesar, now that's an achievement.
But, time to return the present.
"Helen!" cried the deep voice of my best friend from outside my room.
"Coming Marcus." I screamed back to the son of Mars, as I threw the lovely, warm covers off of my body. I peered out at the fuzzy room that surrounded me to see the entire fifth cohort had abandoned me. The bastards.
"Are you wearing your armor?"
"Yes," I screamed back, shrugging on jeans and a camp shirt.
"Then why is it outside in the dirt?" he questioned, plainly enjoying himself.
"Shut up." I growled as I burst through the door, adjusting my thick-rimmed glasses, leaving a trail of garbage behind me. I ran up to him, and he instantly helped me adjust the imperial gold breastplate around my upper body.
Marcus, a model roman soldier, passed me the matching helmet and dragged me to the parade ground just in time.
As I bumped into my compatriots in the fifth cohort, my friend took his place in the first, between my cousins, Julius and August, children of Minerva. With their well-groomed hair, perfectly polished imperial gold armor and weapons, and their huge roman noses, they were the epitome of roman warriors.
Scowling, our praetor, Reyna, strutted into the room, her customary scowl etched firmly on her face. She had been PMSing ever since our other praetor, Jason (great guy), disappeared a few months ago.
After inspecting the other cohorts Reyna marched towards mine, her braid swinging, and her super-scary dogs growling at her heels.
Surprisingly, no one so far had any weapon or armor failings, and I was pretty sure I didn't either. Our noble praetor thought differently.
With a toss of her head she snapped "Where are your shoes Helen?"
I glanced down at my feet and realized, much to her horror and my amusement that I was wearing nothing but socks which were covered in fat cows saying 'Mooooo'. "Hiding." I said, uncertainly, smiling sheepishly at her.
Reyna was not amused by my rather witty response "As a punishment you and you alone, shall clean the first cohort's boots, tonight." she said, her lips beginning to curl.
One pair down, about fourty more to go. I thought dully, as I scrubbed the boot with a toothbrush, already aching from all the marching and running I had had to do in order to escape training.
"Salve Graecus." my cousin, August, greeted me affectionatly, walking into the boot shed.
"Romanus rodentum" I spat back.
She laughed and came to sit next to me. "Roman rat, really, you do realize you're a roman too, don't you? Anyway, I came to keep you company, idiot."
"Well then, scrub these boots." I said, hopefully.
"Reyna has forbidden it." she replied "so I thought I'd help you with your latin verbs."
I instantly groaned inwardly (and outwardly I might add). You see, most roman demigods have the ability to speak and read latin without being taught. I couldn't, although I was damn good at Greek, an attribute which does not work in my favor.
"Now" droned August.
Kill me now was all I could think.
Finally, finally the boots were finished, and with a pained moan I stood up, stretching my aching back, as August and I headed out the shed door, and towards the communal baths.
Shrugging out of our dirty clothes August slid gracefully into the scalding water. I, on the other hand cannonballed in, smacking against the tiled floor, before popping to the surface, to see the glaring face of Cornelia, daughter of Venus, who scowled at me and muttered 'graecus' before leaping nimbly from the bath. The insult which used to hurt now served only to put the offender on my 'to-prank' list.
Smirking I slid over beside my equally gorgeous friend and said "Do you want to hear a joke?"
"No!" she instantaneously said, backing away from me in mock fear.
"Okay then." I said as she groaned "Do you know why PMS is called PMS? Hmm, hmm?" I said, snorting at the answer which was to come. As August made no move to reply to me I decided to give her the answer anyway. "Because mad cow disease was already taken." I cried, laughing so hard at my own hilarity that I fell over.
Needless to say, she didn't laugh "You romans have no sense of humor." I said, punching her playfully in the arm.
"Oh would you shut up." Said a rather peevish female voice from across the steamy room.
Welcome to a day in the life of the only sane Roman soldier.
Salve: Hello
Romanus Rodentum: roman rat.