Well, I finally got back around to writing for this story. Let's see if I can still do this then.
Disclaimer: Not Rick Riordan, blah, blah, blah. If you know the characters, I don't own them. Story!
"Please put me down."
"No."
"Please put me down."
"No."
"Please put me down."
"No."
"Reyna, please put me down," I all but beg from my position for the umpteenth time.
"Maybe. On two conditions," she says, an unidentifiable element in her voice.
Throwing caution to the wind, I say, "Okay, whatever you want, just please put me down." As we get nearer to the residential district, I hear people beginning their days and going about their business. "Please, Reyna, before anyone sees us," I plead, all pretense of pride gone.
She sets me on my feet, saying "Okay," leaving me wobbling a little as I struggle to keep my balance, "but here are those conditions. One; you will meet me back at the arena after you are fixed up and can stand without wobbling, and two; you don't hold back when you get there. And in the event you feel like 'forgetting' this, that is an order. The Legion has no use for a soldier who won't fight their hardest."
Despite wanting nothing more than to refuse, mostly because I really hate fighting Reyna, I agree with a nod of my head and watch as Reyna walks back to the arena. It's then that I remember why she was carrying me in the first place. I really didn't think this through. Well, let's see if I can walk. I take a shaky step forward and almost immediately faceplant, which has the added effect of jarring my still mildly bleeding and very hole-filled (That's an oxymoron if ever I thought one) shoulders. "Ow," I say through the dirt in my mouth. "Okay, Grey, get up and walk. It's not that hard; you've been walking since before you were one," I say, motivating myself. I manage to push myself up into a sitting position, watching blood slowly trickle down to my wrists by now in the process, and pause to catch my breath (those of you saying that I shouldn't need a breather after a single push-up, try doing one with holes in your shoulders).
"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Alexander Grey," I hear behind me. "Shouldn't you be getting stuck in a shadow somewhere?"
I turn my head just enough to see Caius and his crew coming up behind me. "Leave me alone, Caius. I haven't done anything to you before, and I don't plan on doing anything to you either."
"I know you don't," he replies from right behind me. "There isn't a single person who wouldn't defend me once word got to the tribunal if you did, anyway. And Gods know that there isn't a single person who would back you up aside from your little ginger bodyguards-"
"They're my friends, not bodyguards," I interject.
"Tomato, tomahto. Anyways, I've been thinking that you've been such a good sport with us that you deserved some kind of a reward. Right, guys?" A chorus of "Yep" and "You know it" comes from his friends behind him, and my suspicion is now piqued. "Here's the thing," Caius begins, walking around me, "we know that Reyna has taken an interest in your training, for whatever reason, and that you always get your ass handed to you. Is it safe to assume that your current situation is just such an example?" he asks, waiting for a second before continuing, "Oh, of course it is. Who am I kidding? Back to that reward: we know how you can beat Reyna and not have to take any more beatings from her."
He watches me as I think it over, showing no signs of what he might be planning. Should I do it? I really hate fighting Reyna, and I would love to beat her, just once, but this is Caius. Everything he's done to me over the years, and he expects me to take him up on his offer?
"Caius, you can take your offer and shove it down your throat. I'm not interested." With that, I struggle to my feet, and begin walking unsteadily to the infirmary.
"Okay," he says as I walk by, "but don't say I never tried to help you with Hylla - I mean Reyna."
Hylla? Whose Hylla? Fuck, he planned that. "Damn Caius, him and his plans," I say to no one in particular. From there, I struggle to my feet and begin the trek to the infirmary. I now have a very important tip for anyone who gets stabbed in the shoulders: walk with your hands in your pockets, it will save you a lot of pain.
After about seven minutes of walking the streets of New Rome, I make it to the infirmary. I walk in and see a familiar sight; my mother at the desk. I had forgotten about that. She looks up from her work and scrutinizes me shortly. Spotting the blood trickling down my arms, she sighs and points me down the hall to the left of her desk. "I will inform the doctor that you're coming. You will tell me what happened later," she says very matter-of-factly. Sometimes, I think she inherited a little too much of Grandmother's personality. And the scarier characteristics. Like the eyes. I think more of my nightmares have involved my mother's death glare than monsters.
Pause. Let me explain: my mother is a daughter of Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, Crafts, and War, among other things. She has really scary eyes that my mother inherited and passed down to me. She's a bit of a traditionalist, keeping her brown hair long, but well-kept in a fancy braid that goes around her head, kind of (I think it's called a Roman Braid, actually). She doesn't usually wear a toga, or whatever the female equivalent is, but opts for a poofy, white shirt and black formal pants and Roman sandals. What really makes her scary though is just how cold she seems at times. I know she cares, but she's always so detached from the situation emotionally. It's not like I'm any better, but it always makes it difficult to determine just how angry she is. And her death glare. That's scary too. It's like looking into a storm cloud, watching the lightning arc back and forth, wondering when it will finally strike. I feel like that's a pretty good explanation of my mother. Play.
I walk down the hallway and hear my mother say into the intercom, "Doctor Allen, your 9:30 has arrived earlier than expected." As I pass one of the open rooms, I look in and see that it is in fact only nine o'clock. Well, I'm in worse shape in less time than usual. Reyna must be very proud of herself. I walk through the door to the usual office and see that it's empty, save for the posters, patient's bench, ritual fireplace, and other assorted furniture expected of a Doctor's Office. Not surprising, as I'm half-an-hour early, but still not a normal occurrence. I close the door behind me and go sit on the patient's bench, looking around the 10x10 foot room at the now memorized motivational posters: a demigod dangling from a cliffside that says "Hang in there!", a group of demigods surrounded by monster silhouettes that says "You can do it, just believe!", and my personal favorite, a demigod surrounded by ten bricks of Imperial Gold C4 in front of a giant monster silhouette that says "When in doubt, blow it up." to name a few.
After about 5 minutes of sitting there pointlessly (getting progressively more light-headed), Dr. Allen walks in. He's wearing his glasses (simple wire frames) and doctor's coat, with a plain blue set of scrubs underneath. "Well, what seems to be the problem today?" he asks with a smile, getting right to business.
"Well, Doc, I have two holes in my shoulders and I've lost enough blood by now that if you don't make this quick you will have to force the Ambrosia and/or Nectar down my throat. Aside from that, my day is going just fine," I reply. I've got to admit, Dr. Allen is definitely my favorite person who works in the hospital (sorry Mother). He always has a smile on his face and doesn't waste time mincing words. The only way he could be better is if he gave me a cookie anytime I came to visit. I'd get daily cookies. Except on Sunday.
On Sunday I'd get two.
"Here you are," he says after digging around shortly in the cabinet, tossing me a Ziploc bag of Ambrosia. "I know that it's against policy, but I think you should just keep the bag for until it's gone. I have a lot of appointments for the rest of the week that I don't want to be late to. Plus, I'm pretty sure you know how and when to use that by now." He glances down at his watch, then says, "Is it really only 9:15? Reyna really whipped you today, didn't she?"
"As usual. I don't know why I can't fight her," I start. Seeing the telltale sign that Dr. Allen is about to say something he finds funny, I add, "And please, don't launch into one of your embarrassing lectures on the power of hormones. I don't have a crush on her. The only things I feel that involve Reyna are fear, respect, and pain." I emphasize my statement by crunching down on a piece of Ambrosia, the taste of homemade spaghetti in meat sauce coating my tongue.
"Whatever you say, Xander. Just know that your mother won't be so easy to get rid of." And with that, the good doctor leaves.
Not a minute later, my mother walks in. Shit.
"Explain. Now," she says, sitting across from me in a chair.
I tell her what happened during sparring today, and when I'm done, she just sighs. "One of these days, she is going to seriously hurt you."
"What do you call stabbing my shoulders?" I ask, almost shouting.
"Point made." With that, my mother and I lapse into one of our usual silences. A few minutes later, I ask, "Who's Hylla?"
My mother stiffens slightly at the name before asking, "Where did you hear that name?" caution lacing her voice.
"Caius found me while I was coming here and offered to give me something that could help me spar against Reyna. When I refused, he called Reyna Hylla before correcting himself and walking off."
Thinking it all over in her head, a mental debate raging in her head, my mother takes a few minutes before saying, "While I would help you if it were my place, that piece of information is part of your Praetor's personal life from before she came here. If you really need to know, I suggest you ask her, but be careful."
"Thank you, Mother."
"You're welcome, Alexander. Now, rest a while. I will bring you a breakfast shortly."
"That's alright, Mother. I can go to the mess hall. You have more important things to do than wait on me."
"Nonsense," she replies. "You're my son. A good breakfast is the least I can do." With that, she gets up and walks out the door. Deciding that I'm not going to win this argument, I lay down on the bench (really, more of a cushioned cot) and wait for her to return. Ten minutes later, she walks back in the door, carrying a tray of food with her.
"Really, Mother, this isn't necessary," I say.
Before I can continue, she cuts me off. "Are you going to turn down this meal that I made for you? I, your mother, the one who brought you into this world and gave you everything that could be wanted, who-"
"Alright, Mother, I get it. I will eat the meal. Enough of the guilt trip. Gods, if I weren't related to you, I would have been out the window by now," I interrupt, getting up and taking the tray from my mother. "Besides, it's not like you actually cooked this." At a cold look from my mother, I hastily add, "I love you!" and dig around in one of the cabinets for a box of matches and some blank papers. I throw the papers into the fireplace, start a fire, and slide a portion of the food into the fireplace, offering up my usual prayer of thanks to Dad. As an afterthought, I slide some more into the fire and ask, Please, Lady Bellona, don't let your daughter kill me today. I walk back over to the bench and begin eating my breakfast. Only then do I notice that my mom actually did make this for me; biscuits and gravy with hashbrowns, my favorite breakfast, and one not in the hospital's ready-to-nuke rations. I take a mildly frightened look up from my meal, now a little over half burning in the fireplace, at my clearly agitated mother. After inhaling my breakfast, I finally do jump out of the window. "Bye Mother! I love you, have a good day!" I shout over my shoulder as I run back to the fighting arena.
Well, that was something. Tell me what you think below. Thanks for reading.