Insert random author's note here.
War games; probably the most evil thing invented since cottage cheese.
Of course, being in the fifth cohort, we always lost, without fail; I'm pretty sure we hadn't won in thirty years. And we were always the invaders of a Roman fort, who rarely ever win, even in real life (except for the Britons, they were kind of good at that). Not that I mind being on the losing team that much, hell, I've gotten used to it, it honestly doesn't matter to me anymore. What I hate is the fact that I always get trampled into the dirt, and I hate the infirmary. Those Apollo kids are creepers.
Consequently, it was no wonder I had to be dragged out of bed in the morning.
"Hazel, Gwen, wake Helen up." slurred our centurion, Dakota.
My arms instantly braced around the headboard, ready to put up a fight which never came.
"Helen, we have chocolate waffles for breakfast." came the enticing voice of Gwen, our other centurion. I instantly shot out of bed, and began frantically rinsing off my face and hair with a bowl of water left to me by one of my cohort mates. Undoubtedly Hazel, she's such a saint it makes me feel bad about my own wicked ways. As all of my clothes were dirty, I stole someone else's shirt, and threw on old sweatpants and sneakers. Hey, it's not like I had anyone to impress.
I rushed to the breakfast room, which, incidentally was completely devoid of chocolate waffles. With a growl I slumped into my seat at our cohort's table, and stuffed some bacon down my throat. As I drank my milk I gave Gwen my best death glare, which, in all honesty, wasn't that scary, especially since I had a milk moustache.
We were paired with the second and third cohorts, and surprise, surprise, we were attacking. Gods I hate my life sometimes.
"Tortuga!" shouted Dakota at the front of our cohort.
Instantly our shields locked into place, forming what should be an impenetrable wall to all attacks. Unfortunately, it never turned out that way.
Our formation broke down within minutes, what with the barrage of water cannons, arrows, flaming bolts and the insults being catapulted towards us, it was no wonder the cohort scattered. With anger I
noticed the jeering faces of all the other cohorts, even our allies. It was at moments like this that I hated their guts, every single one of them. Their stupid laws, armies, weaponry and especially their stupid, stupid togas. Who wears sheets nowadays anyway.
It was times like these that made me glad I wasn't one of them. Because despite what everyone said, I refuse to believe I'm a roman. No, I'm-I'm…a half alien, who happens to have all the physical characteristics of a demigod…yeah, that's it.
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to dwell on these philosophical musings, as I saw a jet of something white and frothy shooting towards me. I realised far too late that I should have ducked.
There is something about getting hit in the face with a blast of high pressure water which really wakes you up. I'm being sarcastic of course; the medics say I was lucky that only my nose broke, the rest
of my face was just one big, achy bruise. And thus, I was left all alone, in pain, singing 'all by myself' a little too loudly for any of the other, sleeping patients' volcanic tempers.
I suppose I should take this opportunity to tell you about Jason. Let's see, what could I say about Jason Grace, member of the fifth cohort, Praetor of the legion, slayer of Krios and eater of staplers? Well,
quite a lot actually, but I'll keep it brief. Jason was the savior of our camp, and an all-around great guy. He was fair, brave, an amazing soldier, and a good friend. Of course it would be a lie to say that he didn't
get on my nerves, a lot, for his general perfection and occasional bouts of angst, but he was one of the few people who actually accepted me as a semi-friend, no matter how many times I shaved his head in his sleep, and for that I am thankful. Oh, and most importantly, he used to eat staplers (which I think is pretty G).
But he disappeared a while ago, nobody knows where he is, or what he's doing. It's been a source of tremendous strife for everyone at camp, with the possible exception of Octavian, our augur and resident
teddy-bear murderer, but we'll get to him later I suppose, for now, by Zeus-I mean Jupiter- I'm going to sleep.
"Cartwright, front and center." screamed a seemingly furious voice in my ear.
With an un-roman like shriek I shot out of bed and fell on the floor, still wearing the fluorescent purple infirmary pajamas. I swear they make us wear these things just so we want to leave.
"Julius, you shouldn't do stuff like that to her." said an obviously amused, masculine voice.
"Thank you Marcus." I said, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes "At least I have one good friend."
"Two!" cried August, as she helped me to my feet.
"My face hurts." I complained, as I felt the swollen flesh.
"Stop poking it then, idiotus." said Julius, laughing
"Oh shut up, you...you obesito illegitimo!" I shot back triumphantly.
Marcus laughed and shook his head as he said "Five years of studying latin, you still can't conjugate the simplest verb, and yet you know how to call someone a fat bastard."
"Well, gotta get your priorities right." I said, my now-swollen impish features twisting into a lopsided grin.
We laughed at that as Anthony, son of Apollo walked into the door. He gave us what he probably assumed was an attractive smile (but actually made him look like a leering goat) as he walked towards me.
"Drink this" he ordered, handing me a small cup of nectar. "Then you should be alright to leave." He finished with a smile, then turned towards August, and winked. "Make sure she leaves when she's cured, we don't want any malingerers."
She blushed furiously and muttered "Okay" before he left.
"Oooh, August's got a luuurveer." I began singing in an annoying, exaggerated preppy voice, dancing around my glaring cousin.
"Just drink the nectar." She spat back, her hand plainly itching to grab her gladius and run me through.
I drank it slowly, savoring the taste of brownies and peach ice cream. Smacking my lips I looked around at my companions, feeling my bruised face return to its normal, non-swollen state. "So, what are we doing?" I asked hopefully.
"You're going to bed." Said August, grabbing my arm.
"But it's only midday." I complained loudly.
"You've been asleep for seven hours." Replied Marcus "Honestly I have no idea how you manage to get so tired, you must sleep for about thirteen hours every night."
Oh you have no idea, my friend, I chuckled darkly to myself. No idea, muahahaha
"Um, Helen, please stop laughing like that, it creeps us all out."