I was writing this on VACATION because I felt bad that I didn't get it done earlier. CURSE YOU, GUILT! Also, what's up with no one reviewing my other stories? Waiting for this or what? Seriously feeling the love here (Oatmeal fans, don't kill me, it had to be said). I mean, yes. People did review. And thank you to those who did. :) But on the one story? NO ONE. It was actually kind of sad, because I spent more time and effort on it than I do on the average Traitor chapter. Also kind of glad that no one liked it, because I had an excuse to delete it. I didn't really like it to begin with, and had no motivation to continue. So curse you and thank you (Perry the Platypus!).
Why was this late? Takes time. I've been working on this in increments. I have a life, you know. However small, I have a life. Most of it is homework.
You haven't updated for two weeks! So you noticed. Vacation eats up a lot of time, then there's getting back into school with work that was missed. BLEH.
So I cut the last chapter off short…. Here's basically the second part of that chapter and what would have been this chapter!
We ran to the rest of the Legion, who were standing at attention at the gates. Dakota began to call role for the rest of the Fifth Cohort, which was at the end of the line of soldiers. The Lares stood behind them. I stood off to the side with a few guards, and was far enough away from the Lares to be comfortable. I still couldn't get Bob's warning out of my mind. I really hoped I wasn't a son of Pluto. As much sense as it would make, I knew bad things happened to the children of Pluto. They would hang around the dead, and would be feared by the living. So far, I was 1 for 3. I was also hoping it wouldn't stay that way. I didn't want to be feared, or want to hang out with dead people. I see dead people, yes. But it's Camp Jupiter, where Lares make up half the population. What I was really hoping for was that nothing else extremely sucky would happen to me. Schist, I was wrong.
The praetors stood at the front of all the cohorts, Octavian standing near them at the front of the First Cohort. I didn't understand how he could have that position, until I remembered that he was the augur. Those who possess the power to tell the future are valuable allies, and horrible enemies. They can turn everyone against you out of fear for their futures and destinies. If they were to become corrupt… bad things would happen.
Monica had highlighted, slightly curled brown hair and piercing green eyes. The tips of her almost elfin ears were poking out of her helmet. Adam had straight light red hair and cloudy brown eyes. He had the facial features of a Roman statue- the hawk-like nose, large forehead, and pointed chin. His posture was commanding and straight, like he was daring any to oppose his might. Adam was tall, and the height difference between the two praetors was comical. He looked like he regularly went tanning, which confused me. I thought Romans were antifun and all militaristic. One of the few things I'm happy to report being wrong about. Not that I'm right a lot of the time. Pluto, no. Nine times out of ten, I'm the idiot that doesn't know what to do.
They got right to business. After role call, Octavian introduced me to the other members of Camp Jupiter. There was much cheering, but not for me. That would have been awkward. I heard someone in the First mutter something about "Another loser for the Fifth," but the rest was lost to Monica screaming at them to shut their mouths- in Latin, no less. I liked her spirit. She seemed like someone I could depend on. Someone who would get things done, and get them done efficiently. She was short, yes, but intimidating. Yet another person at camp I didn't want to get on the wrong side of.
Then I was asked about recommendation letters. There was a long, awkward pause, until Dakota stopped drinking his Kool-Aide long enough to step forward. Once again, he looked drunk. He was barely walking straight, and I saw Gwen crossing her fingers in her spot in the Fifth. Jason was biting his lip, either nervously or to restrain himself from doing exactly what Dakota was doing- speaking out of turn, and sarcastically to boot.
"What do you think?" he practically snarled. "He's new here. I found him myself. No guardian in sight, and if there was, they weren't stupid enough to stick around. Give him a chance. The auguries were favorable. Octavian said so himself."
Octavian frowned, not wanting to help Dakota, but somehow wanting me to be a part of the camp. He nodded slowly. "Marcus will be a… valuable asset," he admitted. "And Rome needs all the soldiers it can get. I have foreseen a great battle in the near future. One that will determine our fate, as well as the fate of Olympus."
Apparently, he hadn't had the foresight to share this little nugget of information with the rest of Camp Jupiter. The praetors frowned, their brows creasing in concentration, as pandemonium broke out. The ranks began to break up as some of the younger soldiers screamed. Dakota turned around and looked at me. What? he mouthed.
Monica and Adam yelled in unison, "QUIET!" Surprisingly, this was in English, which was almost a relief. Adam shot a glare at Octavian, his eyes clearly saying We'll discuss this later. "Recruit admitted!" Monica yelled over the crowd. "Which cohort shall claim him?"
Well, that was a stupid question. Dakota rolled his eyes. "The Fifth would be honored," he said, mocking an elaborate bow. "We'll take him," the Fifth's other centurion snapped tersely.
"Very well then!" Adam said over the murmur of soldiers still whispering. "I SAID QUIET!" The whispering stopped, and the praetor continued. "Thank you. Now it is time for the evening meal, and then deathball shall commence!" The soldiers cheered, and we went off to the dining hall, my guards abandoning me at the first word.
I wasn't going to include dinner, but couldn't think of a suitable alibi or transition. It kind of sucks. Fair warning.
Dinner was interesting. Romans sat on couches, with the senators, praetors, and centurions eating together and probably discussing Octavian's slip. There was a wide berth around him, and I felt sorry for him. I wanted to invite him to sit with us, but that probably would have been awkward. Mainly because he and Dakota obviously didn't get along. Wind nymphs served us different platters of food. I got pepperoni pizza and was even allowed to get a goblet of soda, a treat at Aunt Tina's. It wasn't home any more. I had no connections there. She hadn't really cared about me, just her reputation as a lawyer. Anything and everything could and would come up against you in a background search in her business. She didn't need an abandoned nephew to go along with her two missing kids. Home was there. Camp Jupiter. With friends and probably a new family (siblings) and fun.
The most interesting thing about dinner was Dakota. He sat off to the side at our table, drinking out of his flask. Gwen watched him and sighed. Jason explained that it was almost a tradition for him to get "drunk" on his super-sugary Kool-Aide before any of the activities after dinner. War games, deathball, chariot and gladiator competitions… You name it, he'll drink himself senseless for it. He added that he was shocked Dakota hadn't been kicked out yet for it.
Gwen had looked at him and reminded him that Monica was his half-sister. "As much as demigods may hate other demigods, they help each other because they're related. And it would look really bad on you if you preach this to the blood-thirsty campers that agree with Adam, son of Mars, then kick out your own half-brother. Adam knows he can't touch him because he's related to Monica."
"Yes, our court jester," the Fifth's other centurion had sneered. "Which Rome so badly needs. Even this mere child could replace him, and do a job better by tenfold!"
Dakota had just looked at him and threw his magical goblet at him, then screamed something about him stealing his "magic juice." None of the other campers had even looked up, most were still sitting around, subtly pointing at Octavian and whispering. I had gotten the impression that they were really shook up with the prediction of a war, and that Adam was disgusted that he was in charge of a bunch of pathetic and terrified Romans.
"DEATHBALL!"
The cry went out, the soldiers shaking their weapons at the sky. The cohorts were organized into a sort of parade to enter the arena towards our deaths. No one had actually died during this game, but they called it deathball because it was the most likely game to cause death. War games had more casualties than any other activity.
The Fifth was going up first, as a kind of living shield for the Third and Fourth. We marched in rows of four, everyone in their exact position. It was considered a bad omen if we got out of line even for a second. It wasn't easy. That armor weighed a ton, and I wasn't used to strain on my body back then. I knew not to complain, though. I had seen that Dakota was very relaxed compared to the other centurions. One girl in the Third Cohort had stumbled over her shield and her senior centurionhad her taken to the barracks to be sewn into a bag of weasels and thrown into the river. When she had complained (like a new recruit, Dakota had said, looking on), the senior centurion had sentenced her to also cleaning the bull pen at the coliseum, and scrubbing the streets clean with a toothbrush- after the victory parade.
"That sucks," said Gwen, shocking us. She's normally such an optimist, so it was bizarre for her to see the world as it truly is, instead of making it look more appealing. "The unicorns and horses tend to take giant dumps during parades." "They get all temperamental that they can't participate in war games, so they take it out on the roads and any sucker who happens to be forced to clean them that day," Dakota chimed in. The other centurion, a snobby-looking teenager with his nose high in the air, jerked his head at Dakota for him to get back in formation. He looked so arrogant, I was astonished Dakota didn't break his nose with his Kool-Aide flask. He probably didn't want to risk breaking it.
"Great," Jason snorted sarcastically as Dakota took his position as centurion. "We're going to get pummeled again." He put his shield on the ground and took one last look at the sky before we entered the building that was to serve as the deathball arena. "Why us?" I asked, not exactly sure if it was my own bad luck rubbing off or what. Jason sighed, then looked at me. "We're not supposed to mention it. Bad luck." "Not something Fortuna smiles upon?" I quipped. I earned a smile from Jason, his scarred lip not splitting as it was stretched. It had probably been there for a long time. As I had learned the hard way, mouth wounds do not heal quickly, and are finicky creatures at the best of times. If you really need to know, I was trying to juggle knives when I was little. I saw a comic… You know what? Don't ask. It's complicated. Let's just leave it at that.
ANYWAY, so Jason started explaining the story of the lost eagle of Rome. How we had been Armed With Lightning, but now were nothing without our standard. He talked about how it was supposed to be an honor to bear the standard, but now was a big joke. Our cohort had lost it, and had lost the honor and respect of Camp Jupiter and the gods with it. Then I understood the looks I had gotten when I had been selected by the Fifth, supposedly the worst cohort at camp. I shook my head at that, telling Jason, "if we're really the worst at camp, then why is the only son of Lord Jupiter with the Fifth? After all, the camp is named after him." Jason had smiled, looking thoughtfully at the sky. "Maybe it's my destiny to bring pride back to the Fifth," he had replied. "Maybe I'll find the standard and become a praetor."
We were marching in the arena, and had just gotten to our position when the First, Second, Third, and Fourth Cohorts had picked up their paintball guns. We were basically the dividing line between them. As Praetor Monica counted down, I began to crouch, muscles tensing. Even under the armor, I was preparing myself for the worst. Dakota saw me and came over. He smacked my helmet with the butt of his sword. His words began to vibrate as the metal banged around my ears. "What are you doing?" he hissed, looking furious under his helmet. "Romans don't cower!" "Not if they want to live," Jason and I said at the exact same time. We looked at each other and started cracking up. Unfortunately, during our moment of hysteria, the game had begun. While my mouth was open, a deathball the size of a grape entered. I began choking, the acid burning in my mouth. All I could hear was shouting as I hazily thought it would've been worse if it was actually on fire. Then, there was darkness.
Hahaha, Mark has really bad luck. Maybe Fortuna really does curse those who mention the eagle! OH NOES! I MENTIONED IT! This is why Romans don't laugh. They're paranoid creatures. Don't eat the acid, Mark! I was going to leave it off here, but I really don't want to make this into a seventy chapter story. That would annoy me to Hades and I would (probably) put this on hiatus. Then I would spend my time on the other stories I want to write. Also, guilt makes me not want to abandon you people with another sucky short chapter. Maybe this counts as a two-in-one update, I don't even know. Never mind that, on with the show!
As I opened my eyes, I found myself in a plain white room. I was lying in a hammock, with several other empty hammocks in rows through the room. My mouth felt like it actually had been on fire, and my throat felt raw. Maybe it had been a poisoned deathball. Dakota stood over me, and sighed in relief when he saw that my eyes were open. "Thank the gods," he breathed. "We thought you were dead!" He caught me looking at him strangly, surprised that he actually might care. He was, after all, a drunk. Which might have made him emotionally unstable, now that I think about it. "And then I would have busted my asino getting you into camp for nothing!" he hastily added. "Oh, shut up, Dakota," Gwen said, coming into the room, smiling as usual. "You know you care, at least a little bit, about Mark. Now, stop pretending and get over yourself." I would have said exactly the same thing, if I could have talked. Well, pretty much. I don't talk about myself in the third person. Coming from Gwen, it was insane. She's a total optimist, always trying to make the best of any situation. Sarcasm is almost a foreign concept to her. Almost, because she hangs out with Jason and Dakota too much to be a stranger to it. Was I still knocked out? Or dead? Or possibly dreaming?
Gwen smirked at our astonished faces. "I'm translating," she said. "I understand Mark enough to know that he would have said that if he was able. Don't try to talk," she instructed, facing me, and turning her back to Dakota. He pouted for a second, leaving me wondering what was going on between the two. "For all we know, you might never be able to again, and stretching your vocal chords this early into the recovery is NOT a wise idea." Oh, right, I thought, mentally smacking myself. Legacy of Minerva. She would have the intelligence to back up any theory she possessed. Plus, brains enough to understand people and their personalities at a glance- to realize what their true goals were, and discover weaknesses. She had more in common with the goddess of wisdom and battle strategy than I had originally thought. Gwen could be soft-spoken and optimistic enough to distract you from her plans. Not that she was normally like that. She was normally buoyant and quiet, but also used these normal mannerisms as a ploy when she was suspicious. I could never tell when she was being underhanded. She just was from time to time. I'm amazed I was able to figure it out at all.
"I'll bet you want to know how the game ended," Jason said, entering the room with a scowl. "Sorry, Dakota sent a messenger to tell me you're up. He's been neglecting his duties to watch after you, claiming it was his fault." The centurion in question was staring at the celling, quickly turning the color of his Kool-Aide. His face almost matched the color of his lips, which were stained red from the amount of Kool-Aide he drank daily, when Jason rolled his eyes. "Our other centurion, Steve, refused to take over Dakota's duties. He went to Monica and Adam about it, and they fired him. He's been downgraded to probatio status. Probation," he interjected hastily, for my benefit. Having only been at camp for a day, his translations were much appreciated. I mean, I could understand some, from instinct and being around other people that spoke it so that I could hear it, but I had still only been at camp for less than a day. "Our praetors were not pleased. They called me in, and because I'm 'apparently the only one who ever tries to get anything done in the Fifth,' I'm the new centurion."
We stared at him for a second in shock. No one knew what this would mean for the future of the Fifth, though it certainly couldn't be worse than Steve's lousy work. Then Gwen's face broke into a huge smile. "Congrats," she said, walking over to Jason and ruffling his hair while shaking his hand. He stared at her, his sky-blue eyes wide, and returned a little smile. It was a sad smile, though, full of secrets and the past. "They're right. There's no one better." Dakota scowled and shook his head. Gwen noticed and rolled her eyes. "That doesn't yet have an office. Is that better?" she asked pointedly, then turned her back to him again. He shook his head again, the scowl still deeply etched in his face. He saw me studying his face and shook his head, pointing at Gwen and Jason so that I would pay attention to the conversation.
They were going on about Steve's failings and almost gossiping about his mistakes and arrogance. Jason kept miming him strutting around like he owned the place, and I had to stop myself from making a noise and straining my vocal chords- because A. it would hurt and B. it was probably a bad idea to get on Gwen's bad side. I had failed to notice the new medal he wore on his purple shirt, catching the light as he moved.
He was just beginning to mime Steve cleaning swords in the armory for a week when a harried-looking messenger appeared, throwing open the door. "Centurion Jason wants-" she began, then stopped, noticing the aforementioned centurion standing in the room. "I'm sorry, sir! I came as fast as I could! Please don't have me sewn into a sack of weasels!" she begged, throwing herself at his feet. It was the same girl from the Third that had so idiotically argued with a superior officer. She was dressed in the simple woven tunic of a slave, and her long blonde hair was dirty and wet. Her feet were bare, and there were long, bleeding scratches on her legs. She looked as though she had run all the way over here. Jason looked shocked, and took a step back. "I would never…" he whispered, then composed himself. "I wasn't here, okay? You delivered your message," He turned wildly to face us. "I WASN'T HERE. Got it?" We nodded quickly. "Sir," she cried, standing up. "Please. There's a meeting- a Senate meeting- immediately. They want to confirm your new position. And Senior Centurion Dakota has to go to! I mean, Senior Centurion Miller and Centurion Jason must go to the-"
"We got it," Dakota snapped. "Now get out." She ran out in a hurry, looking like a frightened deer caught in headlights, tripping over a rock on her way. Jason and Gwen stared at him in shock. Gwen was the first to come back to her senses. "Are you nuts? What the PLUTO is wrong with you!" she screamed, punching him in the gut. He sagged, and she came in with her fist, winding up to put more power in the blow. His knee made a sickening crack, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, "STOP IT! YOU'RE GOING TO KI-" but at the L's my voice cut out. It hurt worse than choking on that stupid acid ball had. Far worse. Probably because my throat was healing, and the flesh was really sensitive.
Gwen stared at me, Dakota's hair in her hands. Jason was still staring at Dakota, his jaw slack, in a total daze. Dakota wasn't trying to do anything to defend himself. He simply said, "Stop talking, kid, or you'll never recover." Gwen looked down at his face, trying to read him. "He's not a kid! He's only five years younger than you! And who are you to tell him to shut up! You almost got him killed! You always pretend you don't care about anything! And now look what you've gone and done!"
She dropped him, and he fell to the floor, looking utterly broken and defenseless. She pointed at the door. "WHAT in Jupiter's name was THAT all about?"
Jason snapped out of his trance. "I only sent for a messenger. I asked Bobby to do it. Not her. Not right…" he whispered sadly. "Wanted to give Bobby something to do so he wouldn't get in trouble again."
Dakota sighed, sitting up, his nose gushing blood after its impact with the floor. "Good thing we're already in the medical station," he muttered. "Should've known she'd go all ninja on me." He looked at her with resignation, almost depressed.
"Don't be all sarcastic with me," Gwen snapped, the glare in her eyes softening a fraction, with… affection? What was going on between these two? Dakota coughed once, spitting a fair amount of blood onto the floor. "Battle strategies. I always forget battle strategies. And the determination to win." He looked at Gwen again. "Didn't want her to be in trouble. Like Jason said, now it doesn't look like she was here. I hate slaves. Felt like I was one my first year at camp. I was always screwing up. Praetors didn't know what to do with me, and no one wants to offend my father. Not that I've ever heard anything from him. Bacchus isn't known for being fatherly. More like the opposite. Not that I hate-hate the slaves. More pity. People aren't made slaves very often. When they have a mouth on them, like Jason and I do, they're usually a slave. If they keep it shut, like Jason is strangely able to, they can survive in the normal Roman/camp society. But we've got to get going," he said, standing up and squeezing his nose to stop the blood flow. "You have any idea how much trouble she'll be in if we aren't on our way?" At our blank expressions, he shook his head. "It'll make what Gwen just did look like a piece of cake. Or Kool-Aide. Yes, Kool-Aide. You," he said, pointing at me, "Rest. If I hear that you got up or spoke one word, I will spike your nectar with acid, and you will be on reprieve for two more weeks. And you," he said, pointing at Gwen, who looked down in shame, "Don't do that again. I'm your commanding officer. Try to remember that. And," he added as almost an afterthought as Gwen looked up in astonishment, "take this. I won't be needing it anymore."
He threw a small metallic green object at her face, which she caught easily. She stared at it in wonder, a smile growing on her face, as Dakota and Jason ran out the door to the Senate meeting. "Go to sleep, Mark," she whispered, still smiling. "Tomorrow will be a better day."
I closed my eyes, letting the comfort of sleep overwhelm me. The last thing I saw was Dakota's Kool-Aide flask in Gwen's hand, held just over her heart, as she turned out the light.
Awww. Happy ending. Almost too fluffy, but whatever.
Gwen is almost on something in here. Happy, then scary angry, then happy again. The children- and therefore descendants- of Athena/Minerva seem to be like that. Their buttons get pushed easily.
This is the answer to anyone who's ever wondered where the Party Ponies got their paintball guns. They stole them from the Romans. The Romans don't like centaurs, and now you know why. They're "uncivilized," as Frank puts it. Or, the Romans teach their campers that centaurs get drunk and kill heroes. Plus, there's the whole 'another breed of centaurs trying to invade the Roman camp' thing.
If anyone even ASKS if Dakota is gay, he will come after you with a gladius. Do you want a drunk with a sword after you? I thought not. He's just uncomfortable. He's used to being uncaring, which is because he makes himself drunk off his uber-sugary Kool-Aide, but because of Gwen… Well, that'll be a one-shot I'll upload later. Yes, there are hints of DakotaXGwen. I have no idea if that's a canon pairing or not, but I don't care. I want to take a few liberties, or change it later. Once again, I'm working on writing instead of doing homework, so you people can't even complain.
I'm enjoying putting little references to the future in here. Spear in Gwen's back, finding the standard, becoming praetor… it's just fun. No one's noticed yet, but they will now.
Hmm… Jason's centurion? Why? How about why not? I has a plan, and it's actually getting more detailed the more this story goes on. (Which makes it so hard to keep this story canon. Rick hasn't gone into these minor details yet. It doesn't help that we know next to nothing about Jason, who is a major character. Well, he's praetor during part of the series, and I don't see how he could go from soldier to praetor. But why isn't Percy leading the quest to stop Gaea? OH NOES! ANNABETH!) Like, I have the master plan of action, and know where I'm going, but I'm getting more little plot bunnies. YAY PLOT BUNNIES! And I know no one will be interested, but if anyone wants to try to beta this story… best of luck to you. PM me if you're interested. Department of redundancy department!
How long will this story be? I HAVE NO FREAKING IDEA. Never ask the author this. I should probably address the reviews, but maybe later. I might not answer the ones about his dad because I would give it away.
One of the more pathetic things about this story is that I have no idea what Gwen looks like. I've described the praetors, who aren't even major characters, and can't even describe Gwen yet. Poop. I might just have to make something up and insert it into the earlier chapters.
Wow, no grammar Nazis have complained yet. Yes! I KNOW, I KNOW. It needs work. Whoop de doo. There is effort being made (pointing this out for the third-ish time). And, no one that's nearly as nit-picky as I am, either. I notice details, such as that Octavian was standing with the praetors. This is in the past, so he isn't in the First yet. He'll probably go over during the war because they're afraid of his power or something. I'll work on it…
To clear up the senior centurion, there are two centurions per cohort. One is senior and the other is just normal. That's what I gather from the Camp Half Blood wiki, so go argue with them if you have a problem with it.
Also, I have no idea if Romans make idiots into slaves. The other centurions are strict, and the Third's senior centurion is not someone you want to mess with.
I have no idea what Dakota's last name is. If Rick Riordan chooses to reveal it in the series, I will change it. For now, it is Miller.
I have met my goal to make this my longest chapter yet, so I am satisfied for now. Stay tuned for more of the crap we call my writing!
MAGIC JUICE!