A/N: A/N: All characters and settings are credited to Rick Riordan and this story is fair use and NON-COMMERCIAL.
Thousands of years ago, the thoughts of man sparked a fire on the torch of the west. As the west shifted from Greece to Rome to England and now to the United States, the Hellenistic culture shifted with it. But now, it is time to redefine the torch of the west.
A stream of water gently flowed down the great aqueduct of New Rome and into the soil of the Neos Latifundia Romanus. Although the water is fresh and clean with hints of minerals in it, the plants still look like they just came from the Fields of Asphodel.
"Why am I not surprised?" Meg muttered sarcastically as she reluctantly checked on the overplanted soil.
"With the way you're planting, you're gonna get beat up by the emperor again," sighed Joe, a random Roman farmer, "Can't you understand the definition of a quota?"
"And can't you understand the definition of sustainability," Meg resorted back.
"Legit, screw freaking sustainability. Just meet the quota so you don't get beat up. Much as I hate to say it, our economy is going up when under the rule of Caligula."
"Yeah, but are your profits going up?" This silenced Joe.
"Do whatever crop rotation nonsense you're doing. When you come home bleeding, don't blame me for not warning you."
"A couple of years later, let's see whose farmland is doing better," Meg scoffed as she went back to tend her crops. She's been farming Olives for 3 seasons in a row. Not only is that boring as heck, but the soil also looks dry as bread. At least she's been secretly planting peanuts. Can't imagine the fields of other farmers. Meg made a small prayer to Ceres, hoping that her soil could last until the fall of Caligula's reign.
The galloping of horses broke her thought. She looked up from her crops and her face had the word annoyance written all over it. It's a crop inspection time.
Joe gave her you're dead look. And Meg is forced to confront the inspector.
"What the frick are these!" Yelled the inspector as he kicked the peanuts and other crops.
A tear fell from Meg's eyes. She whispered a weak no, but that only made the inspector laugh.
"Is Meg crying? You better start planting more olives or you can join your peanuts in the kingdom of Hades!" Scorned the inspector.
That's the line for Meg:
"The soil is a blessing from Ceres;
The soil is the home of plants;
The soil is the salt of the earth;
The soil is the mother of growth;
And the soil is the gold to life.
It is my job to secure this blessing;
It is my job to protect this home;
It is my job to guard this luxury;
It is my job to love this mother;
And it is my job to treasure this gold.
Everytime I rotate the crops, the soil feels strong.
Everytime I remove the pollutants, the soil feels care.
Everytime I spray fertilizer, the soil feels powerful.
Civilizations rise because of soil. People feel joy because of soil. The soil brings greatness to man, and I must bring greatness to the soil.
And I will do that by practicing Civil Disobedience, by defying the unjust regulations posed by Caigula."
"And that thought is the precursor to torture"
"But that thought is also the precursor to prosperity."
"Prosperity," Mocked the inspector, "is brought here by the emperor, not outlaw farmers that can't meet quotas. This is the new West, and you follow the new ways."
With that, Meg, again got dragged into the room of torture.