New Girl (First Cohort)

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It wasn’t that Laura didn’t like training with her Cohort. The physical exertion was a necessary counterpoint to the finely detailed work she liked to do in the forge and kept her in adequate shape for War Games. Sweating wasn’t the issue, either, because Laura spent so much time in the forge that her pores no longer released salt when she sweated. Suffice it to say that she spent a lot of time sweating.

Her dislike of training time had more to do with the fact that weapons were not her specialty. Every time she tried to forge a weapon with some sort of attribute, it came out a dud. Only one weapon she’d ever made worked the way her vision did, and that was a laser arrow. That was hardly practical to mass produce, particularly when the Legion made use of primarily bladed weapons. Her gladius was standard issue, without tricks or bells of any type, and that bored Laura.

She was an inventor, an engineer, and an architect. Her automatons were already amazing, and with time they would become legendary. Time spent on the obstacle course and on the training fields meant less time with her hands buried in the guts of something with too many wires to keep conscious count. Her current project occupied almost all of her waking attention, including the walks to and from training. She left it by the side of the field when the centurions called the cohort to order, with a neatly laid magic circle to zap anyone who tried to get to it, and picked it back up when they were dismissed from training.

Jarvis was going to be amazing, she knew. His physical design was based off the automaton horses Vulcan had made long ago, but his internal wiring was the greatest feat of electrical engineering Laura had ever attempted. She had spent three months on the internal power source, inventing an entirely new power cell that did not require extensive maintenance for the amount of power it emitted. In the end, it was her lightning heritage that allowed her to make the cell self-sufficient enough – and clean enough – to deem ready for use.

Now, she worked on his individual parts, tiny screwdrivers and pliers tucked into every pocket she wore. Today’s project – this week’s project, honestly – involved the mechanism that allowed his hooves to shift into claws. The basic maneuver was pretty simple to produce, but Laura had to figure out how to streamline the process to make it less flashy, because it had a tendency to produce sparks when combined with one of the demigod metals. She was ready to make the internal wiring mundane metals, and save the magical ones for parts that could actually inflict damage.

“Connect over here, and this will slide over that,” she muttered to herself, wishing she had the recording part of Jarvis up already. He would be able to take dictation, and remind her of ideas and tasks she didn’t always remember on her own. The only part of that feature she didn’t have ready to go was the earbud, and that was because certain demigods who will remain nameless couldn’t keep their sticky fingers to themselves, and crushed the housing, which damaged internal components. Internal components like a miniaturized version of her new power cell. Tony Stark built this in a cave with a box of scraps , indeed.

Despite her focus on what-will-be-Jarvis, Laura never lost awareness of her surroundings. Some of her demigod siblings did, they fell into engineering fugues that made them skip meals. Laura often ignored the stimuli around her, much to the dismay of various aurae, but she could go from immersion to awareness in the blink of an eye.

That was a handy trait on days like today, when she walked into the barracks, intending to shower before eating, and was confronted with a stranger.

A stranger. In her barracks? It was widely known that Laura had trust issues. She had a mutual animosity going with offspring of Mercury because one of his legacies tried to prank her during her first week in New Rome. Fresh off the streets and newly armed, that had been a bad call. Four years in the Legion had only sharpened her knife skills and reflexes, training her in battle. Now, she could be ready to fight in the time it took to inhale one breath and exhale the next.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Laura didn’t quite hiss, but there was venom in her voice all the same. She dropped her hunk of machinery by the door, and drew her knife in the same, fluid motion. Intruders had already gotten to one of her praetors. The fact that this one had gotten close enough to infiltrate the barracks left a very bad feeling in Laura’s gut. “Who sent you? The Greeks? The Norse?”

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Ensemble
Word Count 813

Astrid had somehow already gotten bored, despite only a few minutes passing between when she changed and sat down and when the arrival would arrive. She'd spent a lot of time alone, but none of it was in somewhere nice like this - she was used to forests, caves, gutters, and sometimes a homeless shelter or Y - though the latter two were generally avoided - she preferred not to get morals involved with monsters, and felt bad when things would get messy around them. It was almost too peaceful for her in the war camp's barracks, and she just couldn't relax. So instead she was using her time creatively - she carried around small pebbles just for the reason of if she ever needed to keep herself busy - like most demigods she had an extreme case of ADHD, and that wasn't helped at all with her constant struggle and adventure in just surviving. So she had her pebbles, which she would creatively use to test the strength of walls, trees, or rocks near her. One by one she set the small pebbles onto her finger, then one by one flicked them at the wall, changing how strong she'd flick them. Most tougher mortal buildings were about a four or five, and she could impale rocks into them pretty easily, the barracks at least checked out at an eight - tough enough that the pebble cracked on contact and broke, while also making the smallest indentation.

And then just as she finished making the dent in the wall, her company showed up - she was smaller than the muscular blonde was hoping. Much smaller. She couldn't be older than thirteen or so, at most - great, a kid. She was carrying something at the same time as she walked in, a hunk of metal or... whatever. Astrid didn't really care, it didn't look like anything important or of note. "You shouldn't be here." the small darker skinned woman told her, dropping the hunk of metal and instantly drawing her blade - an action that made Astrid inwardly applaud the fluidity of. Clearly even younger kids here had at least some skill - though Astrid had no doubt that the dark haired girl could have been taken out in the time between walking in and drawing her blade. “Who sent you? The Greeks? The Norse?” Another accusation, this time one that Astrid didn't quite understand - Greeks, Norse? What, did they exist too? Weird.

But she showed literally zero concern on her face or in her body language, as she stretched an arm over her back, a yawn sneaking its way out. Sometimes being descended from the god of bravery was bad for the blonde, even though she'd never admit it, "Yeah, I should be here." She was bored though, and this girl was offering a fight clearly, so why would she go out of her way to avoid it? That'd just be rude to the fight happy girl, so instead she'd play coy, and give vague half answers, "Pretty sure my 'daddy' said this was the right place, at least." She stood up from the bed, slowly, just a bit lazily, the lack of concern completely broadcast - and Astrid knew she was broadcasting it. "You shouldn't point a blade unless you're prepared to get hurt, you know." She grinned broadly, rolling her shoulder and pushing the short sleeved shirt up off her biceps, bow left discarded next to the bed, as she just stared at Laura, waiting for her to make the first move, preparing for the foolish knife wielder to rush in, and let her release some of her boredom. A keen eye that wasn't distracted with anger would notice that she does in fact have her camp tattoo displayed now that her shirt sleeve has been moved.

Words: 630
Notes: best friends already?!?!?
Tags: @laura

Training was pointless. At least, Galen always felt it was. He was a healer not a fighter. So, Galen generally stood there and watched everyone else train. It was good entertainment for the healer, until someone actually got hurt and then he would have to 'train' himself by healing the poor idiot. Training was meant to help you learn your own potential, not get hurt in the process. He sighed softly as he continued his small walk back to the cohort.

Galen munched on a biscuit that he had picked up on his way back to the cohort. He could hear this constant complaint coming from Tex as they walked. That boy could be a whiner, and Galen didn't know why he was whining so damn much. Clover was doing just fine, trotting along in front of the two boys that lagged behind her. She would every once in a while turn to them and turn her nose up as if she was disgusted with how slow they were moving. She wanted to get back to the cohort and rest, clearly. She could be a stuck up little princess sometimes. "Tex! Stop complaining, you just ate! You can't be hungry." Galen sighed as the three reached the door to the cohort.

The son of Vejovis opened the door and nearly ran right into Laura, who had her weapon drawn. This was turning into a very interesting day. Galen slowly peered around Laura to the 'threat' that was in the room. If it was a true threat, he would pick up Tex and Clover and run for it, but it appeared to be a new camper. Laura clearly hadn't noticed that yet. Funny. For how smart and observant she normally was. "Laura, please put that down before you hurt someone. Namely me." Galen stated as he walked past the daughter of Vulcan. He was in no mood to have to heal an entire cohort. At least Bran wasn't here yet.

"Who might you be?" He questioned as he sat down on his own bed, which wasn't too far from where the newcomer was. Tex and Clover followed him, each sitting at his feet before the son of Vejovis picked each baby goat up and placed them on his bed. The white little Clover laid down as the black Tex started to chew on Galen's blankets. Galen ignored the desperate goat, "I'm Galen West. Son of Vejovis." He quickly gestured to the two goats that laid beside him, "These are Clover and Tex. They won't bother you if you want them to keep their distance. They are house trained too. Promise. Tex just might try to eat your shirt."

Galen's gaze soon locked with the fresh tattoo on the newcomer's arm, "I can take care of that for you." He said softly, pointing to the tattoo that was now in plain sight for all to view. "If you want, that is."

WORDS: 501
OUTFIT: HERE
TAG: @branwen, @laura, @astrid
NOTES: Just leave poor Galen out of any fighting that may take place, his poor goats too!

“Pretty sure only one person is likely to get hurt here, blondie,” Laura snarled, wary eyes tracking the stranger’s every movement. She didn’t get along with the cocky demigods, and – if she even was a demigod, which Laura had no reason to trust – this one had placed herself firmly in that category. How long had she been in here? Was it hours or minutes? Long enough to rifle through anyone’s belongings, steal anything? Nothing of Laura’s would leave this room without her approval, thanks to Dummy, but other members were not so resourceful as a daughter of Vulcan. It was a brazen move to be this unconcerned when caught in someone’s room, and Laura instantly hated her.

“You came into my bunker, you invaded my space, and you have the balls to claim that you belong here?” If someone else hadn’t arrived just then, Laura might have been the first to attack. It had always been a pretty solid strategy for her, being the first to strike. First to engage meant control of the terms, and while her defense was also pretty good, offense was her preference. None of this nonsense ‘let’s wait forever for someone to make a move’, she struck first and got things done.

Not that Laura had any particular love for the next member of the Cohort to arrive. Galen was one of the newest members of First Cohort, and he insisted on carting around a pair of kids – baby goats, how desperate was he to cart around extra baggage that could get him killed? He was useless on the field, and he hadn’t proved his place in Laura’s Cohort, either. It was to the point where the only person in her Cohort whose word Laura would trust instantly was Branwen, and her Centurion seemed to speak a language Laura had no hope of understanding. If that didn’t say plenty about Laura’s state of mind, what would? The fact that he would instantly take the intruder’s side over that of someone concerned about his cousin did not do him any favors in her book.

Laura’s crafting time had been even more severely cut, taken up with extra patrols. Third Cohort in particular had been zealous about maintaining their border, but First Cohort had its patrol, too. Laura checked in with Reyna and Dylan almost as often as with Branwen, trying hard not to hover around the infirmary. Kyle was half parent to her, always teaching her something new without tripping triggers or making her feel uncomfortable. The fact that someone got close enough to Camp Jupiter to hurt him gnawed at Laura. That a member of her own Cohort would welcome another such intruder made her furious. Without putting down the knife, or removing her eyes from the blonde, Laura addressed Galen.

“You don’t trust the words of strangers, you don’t offer to heal their wounds before you’ve verified them, and you no deje a mujeres extrañas conseguir esto cerca de su praetors!” Laura hadn’t spoken one, pure language when she come to the Legion. Her speech had been a broken mash of English and Spanish, with words that didn’t belong to either thrown in the mix. It had taken her two full years to untangle her languages while adding a third, Latin, and in times of great distress, she still reverted to Spanish over any other language. “Tu primo podría haber muerto! Y tu dѐle la beinvenido.” She spat the last in disgust.

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ensemble
Word Count 578
Dragondex

Astrid rubbed the back of her neck as Laura taunted her back, yawning loudly. The word 'cocky' would have been the biggest understatement of the century if someone so boldly applied it to the muscular woman. She considered a few options to respond before hand, as Laura bit back with words instead of instantly lashing out - taking the first move would be fun, but she wanted to make it so that if anyone got blamed for the altercation it wouldn't be her, taunting back could also be fun and might encourage her a bit faster, but she didn't want to look weak or upset. So the best option was clearly to just stay silent and stare boredly, like Laura was the least concerning thing in the world. Astrid'd only met other demigods once or twice in her life before today, but one thing that ran true with every mythical thing she'd met, god, demigod, monster, or spirit was that they hated to be ignored, and always had quite a temper for being underestimated. 

Laura mentioned 'her bunker' and it just made Astrid laugh softly, shaking her head as she glanced around. Luckily for her, she didn't have time to give a retort to that before the next member of the Cohort walked in - a skinny boy who looked entirely too squishy and unprepared for a real battle. She was sure her Father had assured her that she'd be in the finest Cohort, as befit her, so why was one member a scrawny pretty boy and the other an overly sensitive child? Next she'd probably find out that her leader was some pretty girl who hated having her hair messed up, with her luck. "Getting hurt isn't that bad. You just patch it up and keep going, make yourself tougher for it. Not that you seem to know much about tough." Part of her annoyance was also aimed at the fact that he'd apparently broken up any fight that'd happen, meaning she wouldn't get to break stuff yet. She was looking forward to seeing how much the twig wielder could do when she was fighting, it'd be a good way to judge the Camp.

Instead she dropped her semi-ready stance, sitting down onto the bed she'd now claimed as her own, as Goat boy calmly spoke to her, and the non-goat kid shouted at her and him, without dropping her knife. She seemed incredibly unconcerned with the presence of it in Laura's hands. This was just getting more and more tiresome - taunting people could be fun, but just randomly shouting at other people was never fun, especially when any chance of an actual fight coming from it seemed sort of... unlikely at this point, "Name's Astrid. Goats're cool, my Dad used to raise goats according to stories about when he was mortal. Here." She picked up the discarded overly torn up black tank top from her bed, balled it up, and tossed it lightly into Galen's lap. Better than just throwing it away - at least the goats would enjoy eating it. Sure, she might not be a fan of the pretty boy who cared for the goats, but she was free to like the animals, surely.

Finally as the ranting became fully in Spanish, which she recognized but didn't understand in the least, it became too much for the scion of Hercules, "Oh by Jupiter's prick, shut up already! Mine this, mine that, don't do this, don't do that. Gee, I didn't know I was talking to a Praetor, better tell my Uncles that one of them's been replaced!" She rolled her eyes as she spoke in the overly obvious condescension. She quietly wondered to herself whether hitting Laura with a pebble would be enough to quiet her down, a few calmly picked back out of her pocket.

In the ruckus, she apparently didn't notice or hear Galen's comment about his parentage, or at least didn't seem to take it as a chance to tell him who her own Divine sire was.

Words: 614
Notes: BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!! Also, she totally misses the irony of the first paragraph.
Tags: @laura @galen

Galen watched the small exchange between the two demigoddesses. He truly had no interest in any type of fighting. In truth, he hated fighting. His preferred method of passing time was lounging in a meadow with Tex and Clover. Cliche by most standards, but it worked for him. Though that particular conversation soon ended as Laura turned on Galen. He sighed softly, she did seem to be a bit hot-headed to him at times. He normally ignored her, especially when her speech turned into a language he truly couldn't understand. However, one word made his ears perk up.

His gaze narrowed as he looked to Laura, "If you have something to say about my loyalty to my cousins then say it in a language I can understand. Do not hide behind a foreign tongue. I have had enough of people looking at me like a dog. I follow my cousin's orders to the letter and if you have a problem with the way I run my life and who I decide to heal then take it up with Kyle or Flynn. Better yet, keep it to yourself! It's my abilities to use as I so chose and if I want to heal Astrid, then I will heal her." He sighed softly, there was no point in getting mad at Laura. He didn't know exactly what she was saying nor did it truly matter. Laura was a daughter of Vulcan. Her mind worked differently than Galen's and even Astrid's mind would turn differently. It was the way demigods and demigoddesses were made. It just made him a bit mad to think that people forget who it is that heals their wounds when they do get injured. Sure, he may not be much for combat, he can't swing a sword and his bow skills are average if that, however, he was the most important link to staying alive. It amazed him how some people seemed to forget that until they needed his abilities the most.

Still, they treated him like dirt simply because his fighting skills weren't top notch, like it is expected to be for the First Cohorts.

Galen glanced to Tex, who instantly attacked the shirt that came flying his way. The young demigod rolled his eyes before he laid down and covered his eyes with his arm. "Do what you like. Kill each other. I give up. But I don't think Branwen would like it." There was nothing more to say on the matter. He would resort to his normal tactics: Ignore the Tinkerer. Galen glanced to Astrid and smiled, "So, who is your father? I am curious, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

WORDS: 463
OUTFIT: HERE
TAG: @branwen, @laura, @astrid
NOTES: Thanks for that translation, Fae!

Laura cursed low and violently in Spanish, words too fluid and connected to discern individual syllables –maybe not even entirely Spanish. The streets of California had plenty of other languages to choose from. Translated loosely, she made a nasty comment about Galen’s mortal parent, referencing both their skills in bed and a half-eaten donkey. And yes, there is an implied relationship between the two.

A spark of lightning ignited itself in her hair, dancing along the spin pin hidden in her thick, tangled curls. Laura had been looking forward to her shower, work out some of the snarls in her hair, and maybe dig out the deep moisturizer Branwen suggested to her so her hair would be more manageable while she worked with Jarvis’ wiring. Now, not so much. Her skin crawled at the very idea of lowering her guard around a stranger, and if it were possible for one’s intestines to strangle one’s esophagus, that was pretty much how her own Cohort turning on her felt.

She took a step toward Galen carefully choosing her words to remain in English, but left her accent alone. Her English could be nearly accentless, if she worked at it, and her Latin was approaching flawless. Reyna had helped her with the Latin, neither of them speaking a word of English when they spoke together. Here and now, though, she thickened her Spanish accent intentionally, and retained the fluid delivery.

“I have a problem with the fact that one of my praetors was attacked inside the borders of the camp. I have a problem with the fact that whoever did it hasn’t been caught yet. I have a problem with running double patrols away from my automatons while you judge me. I have a problem with walking into what should be my safe haven, and finding a hijueputa and being judged by a cabron.”

The urge to throw her knife at the stranger grew, and she changed her grip on it. Her little spark of lightning grew, feeding itself through her skin to dance along her shoulder and arm. It tickled, and Laura shrugged that shoulder a little, as if to shake off a loose hair or a bug. The lightning slipped back under her skin, but her always hot blood sang a little more violently.

“Do you think I will come running to you when I get hurt? Where were you in Oakland? Your skills, did I come running for them on Mount Orthrys when a drakon got my leg? Maybe it was New Mexico, I came to you then when I was laid open from shoulder to wrist.”

It was, obviously, none of the above. She still had every scar from Oakland, none of them having faded completely. A few of the bigger scars were left from wounds that should have been stitched, and weren’t. The drakon had almost killed her, and it was Apollo himself, working alongside his children, that laid a hand on the infected wound to save her. New Mexico had been a quest, and the only memory she had after being laid open shoulder to wrist was a halo of red curls, and a Southern accent.

“Necesito Branwen,” she muttered to herself, her agitation making way for anxiety.

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Ensemble
Word Count: 546
Dragondex

[/i] – Scythian, female humanoid dragon monsters, used primarily as foot soldiers in Kronos’ Titan army, but conceivable in the other end of the spectrum with Krios
necesito – first person ‘to need, Spanish. The yo, or ‘I’ is implied by the conjugation.
[/ul]

She didn't come to the camp for this - she didn't come to nearly get in a fight with a goddess, she didn't come to be branded, she didn't come to have to deal with prettyboys who can't fight, and she most certainly didn't come to be ranted at by an obviously insane kid. She chose to come to this camp because it would teach her things she was interested in, and encourage her to do things she enjoyed - fighting monsters, fighting people, fighting each other, all of these were good things that she needed to do, in her path to surpassing her father. None of those things were being hurried along by the stupid girl infront of her, screaming her head off, pushing her problems onto them.

She was still on the bed, as her hands clenched into a fist, and she looked annoyed. There was nothing fancy to it, there was no lightning, no smell of water, nothing bent to her will as she did it - a simple clenching of her hand into a fist, and then a solid swing to the side with the hand, the bottom of her hand connecting with the wall, a loud crashing as the stone met with flesh, "I said to shut up, you insecure paranoid child."  Her words were extremely harsh, without any empathy at all for what Laura might be feeling - accentuated by the crack running up the wall, from where her fist met to the ceiling, and again to the ground, a 'crater' in the bit of the wall her hand actually met. Fortunately the wall doesn't seem to fall down, as she continued, "I don't know what your issues are - and honestly, I don't care. When my father's letter directed for me to join the best of the best, I did not expect to feel completely disappointed, and like this group would be a shame for me to be a part of, but clearly you've done your best to sully its name."

She wasn't a fan of holding back her opinion, and she certainly wasn't the type to try and soften the blow, "Incorrect of them or not, my uncles put trust into you and your family when they believed you were capable of joining the best. I can't say I see any of that capability so far - not only are insulting them with this, but you're insulting Heroes as a whole, and my father by virtue of that." She stood finally, as she spoke, cracking her neck with a hand - this time she didn't have the teasing look on her face, she didn't look like she just wanted a fight for fun. Instead, she looked legitimately angry, as she dropped into a boxing stance, "At least Goatboy here is not embarrassing himself, acting like a spoiled child." A roll of her eyes, and a scoff as she spoke under her breath _{"Safe space."}

Words: 456
Tags: @laura, @galen @branwen
Note: Feel free to say you interrupt her whenever you feel like~