Nathan's Bunk (Vacant)

Not much to say here except that it looks like the average cot.

OOC: If you want to contact Nate directly, here's where to find him.

Leandra had heard rumor that the new probatio accepted into the second Cohort was a son of Angerona. She wasn't really sure she believed that, since he was a about her age. Still, that was what lead her to the Second Cohort barracks. She wanted to meet him. Her brother, of the rumors were true.

She quietly asked one of the guys from the second, the crazy bomb-maker without the leg, Xander or something, to point out the probatio. He obliged, and Leandra found herself staring at a teen who didn't bear any resemblance to her whatsoever, except that he wasn't very big either. Average height for a teen, maybe the low end of average, he was thin, but muscular. Much paler in comparison to her caramel skin tone, with long medium brown hair.

"Ummmm...Hi there. Are you Nathan? The new probatio?" Leandra asked, shifting her weight off her left leg to ease the residual pain a little. She fidgeted some, rubbing her right inner arm, where the tattoo of Angerona, SPQR and six lines forever darkened the skin.

Although Camp Jupiter was not a place one would say was full of down time, Nathan had found just that. So when the question as to how he would use the spare seconds came around, he decided to spend it the only way he really cared to spend it: sitting on his cot reading whatever news he could find on his iPod. This whole "gods and monsters" thing was a bit overwhelming, and he found that by reading about the world outside CJ, he could still scrape together some sanity in that insane camp time forgot about.

He had just stumbled upon an intresting article dealing with the effects that the refugees were having on soccer match attendance in Europe when out of nowhere some girl came up to him and asked to confirm his name. How she found him was a mystery to Nate, who whole sporting the standard issue purple shirt and jeans looked like the walking definition of "John Doe", but a mystery he was open to solving. Putting the iPod into sleep mode and slipping it into his pocket, Nathan turned his full attention to the girl. "Was last time I checked." Standing up, Nate held out his hand, open for a handshake. "Nathan Scott, but y'all can just call me Nate."

Leandra stopped fidgeting and took the proffered hand. "Leandra Kershaw, I'm in the Third Cohort. I, uh, I heard rumor that you were claimed by Angerona. Goddess of silence, the relief of men's anguish and the keeper of Rome's secret name." She said, then she shifted a little. "Most people have never heard of her, and she doesn't have many kids... For the past six years, I thought I was the only one alive. I guess, though, that makes you my brother."

Nate looked Leandra over. Dark skin, short size, different hair color; there was no resemblance between the two of them. But if she wasn't lying, then he had just received the third piece of shocking news since he arrived at CJ. "So, you're my sister?"

Despite, or maybe because of, Leandra's nervousness at introducing herself to her brother the small Roman's sarcasm kicked in. "No, man, I'm your brother. Yes. I'm your sister, well, half-sister. That's what happens when you share a parent. You're a bit pale to be a full sibling."

After a small laugh acknowledging Leandra, Nathan quipped back "True, true; if we were wood you would be oak and I'd be birch with skin like ours. So if you're my sister- half-sister -would you mind if I did this?" Suddenly, Nate threw his arms around Leandra, hugging her.

Leandra was startled and a spike of fear went through her as she was suddenly attacked. Hugged. Luckily, her mind was able to recognize hug before her knee made contact with it's target and she put her foot down, forcing herself to relax and return the hug. The only person who ever hugged her at camp when it wasn't a side-hug was Tib, even Colton just side hugged. Once she had relaxed, though, it was nice.

After a few seconds, she pulled back a little. "Just to warn you...We're all trained and conditioned in combat, and some of us have, ummm, issues. Spontaneous hugging is done at your own risk. I almost hurt you." She said, smiling a little to try to offset the warning. "So...what powers did mom cur- bless you with?"

"Right...forgot this was the insane combatants stockpile." Nate backed off. "Well, I don't think this is a power, but whoever I, like, snitch or something, I get sick or pass out. Didn't really know why till I got here and found out about who my- our -mom is and put two and two together."

Leandra frowned deeply and crossed her arms defensively, feeling rather hurt by the comment about insane combatants stockpile. She wasn't insane, she was damaged, she was injured. It wasn't insanity. "We not insane, Nate. We're prepared. The Legion keeps us alive, and it does a damn good job of it. The training saves lives. If you haven't experienced many monster attacks yet, you might not understand... I'm not insane, but I have been... I have needed to fight, without thinking, because I... I couldn't. It's not insanity."

The veteran soldier sighed and motioned to Nate's bed. "Mind if I sit? My leg is killing me. So you can't snitch." Leandra actually smiled wryly. "Welcome to my world. Confessor to all. Eating helps afterwards. Ambrosia helps more. Just not telling secrets is the best bet, but can weigh a lot on you psychologically."

Of course she would take anything critical of CJ personal; everyone here seemed to. "Look, I didn't mean anything personal by that. Just an observation that of the few people I've met here, one of them was a psycho and the other was an aggressive freak. Although I'm sure you'll have some excuse for them, but whatever."

Upon Leandra asking to sit, Nathan promptly replied "Yeah, sure, sit down. Make yourself comfortable." Paying attention to what his kinda-sister had to say about her powers made him cringe a bit on the inside. Specifically the whole "confessor" part; hopefully being a dude cut down on that. "Sounds like life here sucks for you."

"No, we do have some freaks and psychos. Alex, in my cohort, he's a son of Discordia and tends to make everyone aggressive. Still, it's my home. It's been my home longer than anywhere else. It's not that bad once you get used to the Roman way of life. Legion life is just a little different. Like being in the Army." Leandra said as she sat down and pulled her pant leg up a few inches so she could rub her calf. The denim material still his most of the mangled scarring from her automaton hellhound fight.

"And life doesn't suck too badly. I mean, I've got friends. Good friends, like family. More like family than my own family. Willing to die for me. I have fun. It's just, you know, the battles, the secrets people carry, the...the recent automaton attack. I, uh, something happened, um something changed with that. Me. Changed me. The entire camp is the same, except...it doesn't feel it, y'know? Makes you feel like an opossum ran over your grave."

Nate stood cross-armed, looking at his troubled sister. "Ok...so what I'm getting is that whatever happened, it left you PTSD or something? 'Cus that's what I'm getting from what you're sayin'."

PTSD. Those were letters that she hadnt been willing to think about, and her first instinct was to deny it. "I don't think...I mean, PTSD is..." She thought about it, then licked her dry lips. "I'm sure there's another explanation for the nightmares. And the anxiety. Depression. Insomnia. Flashbacks. No. NO!" She shouted that last word, unable to accept the idea.

S***. Backing up and putting his hands out in front of him. "Shhhhh...Calm down, ok. There's no shame in admitting you have PTSD."

Leandra stood up, shaking her head. "No. No, you're wrong. I don't. I don't have it. I don't have PTSD. That's what people in Afghanistan get! I was here. I was in my own barracks. I wasn't in a warzone! I don't have that. I can't have that. Jumpin' Jupiter, man, I'm only fifteen!" Leandra said, gesticulating wildly. She wasn't a soldier in Iraq. She had survived several battles without having nightmares. One attack on her barracks couldn't do that. "I'm only fifteen." She said again, this time much more softly, plaintively, begging the gods to realize her age and make it not true.

Nate looked down and shook his head. Getting down to eye level with Leandra, he put his well being in the hands of fate and decided to hit her in the head with some hard reality. "Leandra, I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure you have PTSD. Mental disorders don't care about geography, occupation, or age. You saw something that already abused mind of yours, and no amount of spilled secrets will lead to recovery." Nate gently placed his hand on Leandra's shoulder. "I'm saying this as a friend, your brother, and...", pausing for a moment, "And as a fellow Roman, we need to find someone that will help you overcome this."

Leandra closed her eyes and looked away from her brother. She had no intention of admitting he even had the possibility of being right. He wasn't though. He couldn't be. She was Roman. Romans weren't weak. Aut vincere aut mori. They didn't have psychologists or psychiatrists. Hell, half the time, she was the best anyone else had. "I can't, Nate. This...no. I can't. My mind hasn't been abused. It was traumatic, yes, but PTSD? No. And Romulus is trying to help me. Tiberia's making me face mistiforms of h- of h-hellhounds to get over my fear of them." She visibly shuddered at the thought, her mind replaying a mixture of her time on the Field of Mars panicking, and the incidnt in the Third Cohort barracks. The smell of cleaning solution, fear and RC cola assaulting her senses again. She could feel her anxiety rise, the fear response. Symptoms she knew were associatd with PTSD, but she would be damned if she would admit he was right.

OOC: Romans; self destructive since 49 BC.

IC: Sighing, Nathan got back up and began to think. Clearly she was either in denial, was emo and enjoyed the emotional pain of PTSD, or she didn't want to tell because of some form of backlash. It didn't take a genius to tell that this prideful pile of narcissists and psychos would take even the slightest amount of perceived weakness as ammunition to attack the person afflicted. With that in mind, he got back down to Leandra's height and delivered his reply.

"Leandra, please listen for at least a second or two. I can't say this for the whole camp, but anyone sensible wouldn't look at you as weak or spineless or foolish if you seeked any help for this. I'll be honest, overcoming mental illness is one of the toughest things I can think of. Do you want to know why people off themselves? It's because they're weak minded. And if you're able to get up and go face your fears while dealing with PTSD, I can't say it's a smart idea, but it shows that you are anything except weak. And if nobody can see that, then they're blind fools."

There was several seconds of silence as Leandra looked at her new brother with confusion like he had grown three heads. What was he talking about? "Suicide had always been an honorable alternative to disgrace or disability." It wasn't weak, it was expected if you couldn't serve. Weakness was running. Weakness was cowardice. It struck her then that she had spent most of her life immersed only in Roman culture, with small glimpses of mortal life outside. She wasn't used to dealing with people who didn't think like Romans.

"I know you dont understand yet... But this is Roman life. It's not like the mortal world. I have to be able to face my fears. I have to be able to control myself, and my emotions. There is no other option. Discipline and strength drive the Legion. I cannot let fear control me, or the cohesive unit fails. Cowardice is death."

"Suicide had always been an honorable alternative to disgrace or disability." That line. That horrible, sickening, disgusting line. How anyone could say that without feeling like absolute s**t after it had to be less than human. Less than a cockroach even. Nate's hand clenched into a fist at the thought of it. Despite his originally good intentions, his tone became a harsher sounding one.

"So I assume that you've contemplated suicide before?"

"Yes. No. Well...I mean, not seriously. I..." Leandra said defensively, taking a step back away from his angry voice. Her hand instinctively moved down towards her belt, where she kept her pugio in case he got angrier. "I'm not crazy, Nate. It's...damnit, Nathan, I don't know how to explain this. Life doesn't play by the same rules as the mortal world."

Leandra ran a hand through her kinky dark hair. "If I can't do my job, people's lives are at risk. A lot of people. My barracks, my cohort, my legion, all of New Rome. If I can't do my job, stay at my post and fight no matter what comes against me..." She trailed off and sighed.

"I know you're not crazy, just too proud."

Returning to his cross armed position, Nathan let out another retort. "So you say that if you can't do your job all of New Rome is in jeopardy, and the only things stopping you are your feers and...whatever is going on in your head. Now you're already working on the fear part of it, but why do you seem to be neglecting your mental state? Surely if your mind is unstable, then you would be the chain's weakest link."

"My mind is unstable because of the fear. Because my mind has decided that it now always thinks hellhounds are going to attack me, and it wants to remind me of them attacking me. I take care of the fear...the mind stabilizes on it's own." Leandra replied, not even defiant. "Until then... Yes. I am the weakest link. I know."

She rubbed her neck, then started playing with the hilt of her pugio. "Even if you were right, though. We don't have psychiatrists in the Legion. We don't even have anyone over twenty-something."

All Nate could do was roll his eyes and stand up. "That's it, I'm throwing in the towel on this one. Talking to you is like talking to a short, quiet brick wall that views the world in rose-tinted glasses from antiquity. You are beyond the point of help and are, quite frankly, too prideful to accept any. I hope that you enjoy becoming a psychotic mess in the future."