Let's Get Down To Buisness

Watching, planning, strategizing, information gathering, resource gathering, training, educating, redefining, working, helping, more planning, and more training. He had been a soldier his entire life, from the day he was born he was destined to be a warrior; fighting was in his blood, planning was in his blood. Pluto his father was the Roman God of War and Power (as well as mystery). His sacred symbol was that of a spear. He was born for this lifestyle it was the only one he knew and he was damn good at it too. He had worked his way up from a foot soldier, a normal legionnaire and now he was the Optio of the 1st Cohort in the 12th Roman Legion on the fast track to become one of the Centurions.

When things looked sour or when someone needed help in any way it was always him they turned to. He was the perfect Roman in the eyes of practically the entire camp. They expected so much from him, thought he had all the answers that if you wanted a plan to go right or needed some trick to learn that technique you just couldn’t nail down he was the person to go to. Some even joked that he was a robot. Those were the nice things he had heard. For every ‘nice’ thing said about the Son of Quirinus there were at least four or five ‘mean’ or degrading things said about him. He was a strict person, did everything by the book, he had very few friends and was not the nicest or most approachable person in the world. Due to this he made enemies much easier than he made friends.

Yet, still people looked up to him. He fought for the little guy, he stood up for anyone who could not or, for some reason or another, would not stand up for themselves. He made sure no one was treated any less or different than someone else. He detested bullies, liars, cheats, thieves, and all around ass holes. He was a teacher and mentor to some, he was also whether some people liked it or not a leader and a damn good one. Despite all of that the ‘Perfect Roman’ was no different than anyone else. He still bled, he still sweated, he still produced tears, and he still had to sleep or dozed off during inappropriate times because he had been up late doing something, sticks and stones still broke his bones, and words did indeed harm him despite his outward appearance. In short he was still human (or a Demi-God, but you get the idea).

Which is why he was currently on the Field of Mars. Running an obstacle course meant for two people in full armor . . . by himself and clad only in shorts. He had been injured in one of the battles with some monsters and Demi-Gods actually working together due to currently known circumstances, which bugged the living Pluto out of him, and had been bed ridden with a broken ankle, torn MCL, and concussion for the past two months. People’s faith in him had dropped, he was supposed to be a leader and yet he wasn’t even able to help in the situation and was still supposed to be on medical leave for at least another month. He was expected to sit back and allow the rest of the Legion deal with the situation while he sat on the bench, metaphorically and literally speaking, recovering and doing nothing. Not only had the people’s opinion of the ‘Perfect Roman’ fallen but his opinion on his self had also fallen.

So, he did what he did in any situation when he felt powerless. He attempted to lash out at himself but pushing his mind and body to the limits in whatever way he possibly could. Bringing us to the present situation. The obstacle course. It started out with a twenty foot ‘army crawl’ under barbed wire with a 45 lbs. ruck sack, leading to a ten foot wall, a twenty foot long balance beam that was fifteen feet in the air and was about a foot wide while of course he was supposed to dodge arrow fire and hit eight targets (generally it would be four but like stated earlier this was a two person course). From there a hell-hound was released which after some hesitation and a lot of mental conditioning he was able to defeat (but it did take him much longer than it should have), the next segment was a total of ten hurdles that of course had imperial gold spikes a top of them, a row of twenty targets intended to be take down by ten spears was next.

The completion of that would open up a hidden Olympic sized pool (so 50 yards was one length). One would have to outswim the pool closing up again which took about twenty-nine seconds and then jump up and climb a rope a good thirty feet up to the final obstacle. A downward sprint on a beam that was about five feet wide dodging blunt arrows. Surprising that part was a tad bit easier as it was intended for two people and not just one. All this had to of course be completed in under ten minutes, Romulus’ best time by himself was 6 minutes. With a decent partner the best time on the course was 3 minutes, not held by anyone currently living. This time around he only finished it in 9 minutes and 50 seconds. Needless to say he was not happy.

Sitting on the ground just after the finish line, his Imperial Gold Verutum Spear lying across his crossed legs, eyes closed the young man meditated. He was resting, clearing his mind, psyching himself up. He was going to run it again. He had to run it again. It would of course be his fifth time doing so today alone. No one could tell him he couldn’t. Not only was the course not scheduled for use today but he was also currently on medical leave from all Legion activities anyway. Sure, if his doctor found out what he was doing he’d be furious, so perhaps would his Mother. But they wouldn’t know; couldn’t know. He had to do this. Had to get better. Had to prove that . . . that he was still him. That . . . a tear rolled down his cheek. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing anything. Letting out a breath to forget such foolishness he was about ready to move when he felt a presence behind him and a hand on his shoulder. If he was even 50% the man he was two months ago he would have felt them long before then.

OOC: I almost hopped in with Tiberia, but I really wanna see how this is gonna play out.

BIC: Spencer had had a fantastic morning. Swimming, running, onagre practice, hell yes! Nothing was more satisfying than pushing the spoke down and feeling the tension spring off the ropes. ...And of course watching the boulder hit the target and smash it to pieces. The more Spencer was in the Legion, the more she loved it. She didn't even miss Albuquerque anymore -- it was insane.
The fourteen years old daughter of Fortuna had added more muscles to her frame who bulged out a little despite her young frame. She was more and more getting the build of an athletic runner.

However, she missed doing hurdles. Having heard that there were some on the Campus Martius and finding herself with a free hour before Latin, she decided to go have a look, and wasn't disappointed. Spiked hurdles, imperial gold no less! That was a feast.
Dropping her bag to the ground, she was about to have a go when she saw someone else there -- blonde hair, built of a soldier, profile like a Roman statue... Her optio, Romulus. He didn't look good at all, and Spencer knew why. Coming forward softly, the dark-skinned girl put a hand on his shoulder. She didn't know if she was allowed to do that but... she did it anyways.

"You can't let this get to you."

BIC: She's wearing a neon blue shirt, Nike shorts and running shoes. Her cornrows are knotted up into a bun.

Voice. Words. Words he had expected to here, they were some in the many possibilities of few sentences he had expected to hear coming from the person who had been able to sneak up on him. A feat that would give any probatio his say so to become a full-fledged Legionnaire. Had he been 100%. The voice that spoke the words however was not one he immediately recognized and it took him a moment or two to remember who it was that was speaking, as he did not open his eyes only tightened his hands on his Verutum. The fact that it took him ‘so long’ to come to the realization of who it was talking to him only cemented the fact that he was broken as he should have been able to recognize Spencer with no problem.

She was a good soldier. Had a ton of potential and he could see her going as far as she wanted in the legion. Possibly a bit immature but for her age she was mature. Contradicting statement/thought sure but to Romulus it made sense. Not everyone could be . . . what he used to be. “It is much too late for that. Injuries are a common thing and I am no stranger to them but . . . ” but what? He should have seen it coming? Should have prepared for everything? Wasn’t that one of his life mottos? Always be prepared, expect the unexpected and plan for every situation? The one time he let himself get caught unaware he was beaten within an inch of his life barely making it out. Left with the worst injuries he had ever faced before.

“Carried back into New Rome on a stretcher by you and another probatio, a broken mess barely conscious. Beaten, defeated, burned, and humiliated. I almost got us all killed because I made a mistake, I miscalculated the numbers and did not expect the monsters to be working with Demi-Gods.” No, he deserved all of this punishment he was placing on himself, all of this mental and physical ‘torture’ as some would say. He needed to train himself, needed to prove that he still had what it takes. That he was better than everyone thought he was even before the incident. Needed to prove it to everyone.

((Sorry if you don't want her to have been there? Just seemed logical, like maybe it was supposed to be a simple scouting mission gone wrong or something. Just more fuel to his metaphorical fire/downfall!))

OOC: You're all good :)

BIC: Spencer let go of his shoulder to crouch down next to him. She knew he was her superior and therefore, she had to watch what she said to him -- actually, even if he was not her superior, she would still watch it. Romulus was very Roman and had a demeanor of confidence and vigilance that proved he had been in many battles before. Spencer just naturally respected him.

"Romulus. You're one of the Legion's best soldiers. I mean, come on, optio of the First? That's pretty wicked. It means the centurions trust you to become one day centurion yourself, you're being groomed." She licked her lips, trying to figure out how exactly she should word her next point. "A lot of people say you're one of those 'perfect Roman kids' like Jason Grace and Mike Kahale, and they're right. You fit all the requirements. But... there's one thing you're doing right now that is not perfect, at all." She rubbed her hands slowly, hoping he wouldn't behead her for what she was about to say. "You're whining."

“Hah. How are you still a probatio?” It was a genuine laugh, his first in quite some time. She had guts. Good. No one in the entire Legion had had the balls to say that. Not even feisty little Leandra, cocky Wade, his superiors, or even Tiberia. No, some little probatio was the one who decided to straight up tell Romulus that he was whining. It was an interesting theory and one he’d share if it weren’t for the fact that he was still on medical leave. If he wasn’t still being coddled by the Legion for his one failure. Sure, it had left him with a stream of injuries and even unconscious but he was obviously better. Was he back to 100%? Hell no, but he was still good enough to be taken on leave.

There was no reason for him to be continually monitored, poked and prodded. Told he needed to sit back and take things easy. That he shouldn’t be up and about trying to do what he used to. Something he did not agree with. He needed to be out here doing something, getting better, better than before. So much better that he would not ever end up like that again that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a mistake that almost cost two probatio’s their lives. “Whining implies that I’m still sitting in the sick bay complaining about my injuries and taking all the medical leave they’ve given me like their some gift from the Gods. No, I’m out here training, working myself up to become better. To do better. To show that I’m not some broken husk like most of the Legion seems to think I’ve become.” But was it to prove to them or himself? On that question he wasn’t entirely sure of the answer yet.

"No, whining implies that you are focused on your defeat and on how bad other people think of you. Five seconds ago, you were telling me about how burned, humiliated, defeated you were." She clenched her jaw. "Do you want a tissue? Some hot chocolate? If you want to prove yourself, then do it. But don't talk about it. Words are cheap, just do it."