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by Tiberia trudged through the rain, squinting at her surroundings. The streets were empty. Blurry light came from the windows, no doubt families were happily gathered inside for a warm, wholesome dinner. The only ones stupid enough to be outside in this storm were her and Jason.
Because yes, of course, she'd been sent here with a Greek. It had been at least six months since she had been on a 100% Roman mission, with 100% legionnaires, hail Caesar & glory to the Senate.
But now, the two camps were so eager to get along/ avoid killing each other that each time a combat mission was announced, it was almost always Greco-Roman. It'll be great, they said. Forge strong bonds and healthy camaraderie, they said.
To settle any doubts, it was not Jason's Greekness that bothered her. She'd had time to accept the idea of Greeks and their camp peacefully coexisting with hers, even if it had been irksome at first.
No, right now, Tiberia was chill with Greeks.
She was just sharply aware that their training was very, very, very....very different from the one she'd received.
Romans were not new to survival and harsh conditions -- after all, everyone who came out of the Wolf House alive had to somehow make it to Camp Jupiter on their own. And Lupa didn't pack you a lunchbox.
Then once at camp, it was all about survival drills, building forts in record time, hill marches to get used to walking in full battle gear, etc, etc.
Greeks were more about improvising. And quite honestly, Tiberia didn't feel like improvising on this one.
The monster they were chasing was a deadly hydra who'd set a good chunk of Phoenicia ablaze back in the days. Now it was rampaging through Oregon. Because that's what happened when people opened the Doors of Death: old monsters escaped by the dozen and it was up to the demigods to risk their lives and track them down.
At least she had not been stuck with a newb. From what she'd heard, Jason was one of the Greek oldies, a skilled fighter and magician. (To be expected, from a son of Hecate.) He also towered one head above her and seemed to be made exclusively out of protein. Tiberia was used to demigods and legacies being ripped and all -- camp training was no joke -- but jeez.
"We need to find shelter soon," she told him over her shoulder. She was dressed in sturdy outdoor wear and combat boots, her hair tucked away under the hood of her jacket. With the thick sheet of rain and the wind howling in her ears, she had to speak extra loud to be heard.
Because yes, of course, she'd been sent here with a Greek. It had been at least six months since she had been on a 100% Roman mission, with 100% legionnaires, hail Caesar & glory to the Senate.
But now, the two camps were so eager to get along/ avoid killing each other that each time a combat mission was announced, it was almost always Greco-Roman. It'll be great, they said. Forge strong bonds and healthy camaraderie, they said.
To settle any doubts, it was not Jason's Greekness that bothered her. She'd had time to accept the idea of Greeks and their camp peacefully coexisting with hers, even if it had been irksome at first.
No, right now, Tiberia was chill with Greeks.
She was just sharply aware that their training was very, very, very....very different from the one she'd received.
Romans were not new to survival and harsh conditions -- after all, everyone who came out of the Wolf House alive had to somehow make it to Camp Jupiter on their own. And Lupa didn't pack you a lunchbox.
Then once at camp, it was all about survival drills, building forts in record time, hill marches to get used to walking in full battle gear, etc, etc.
Greeks were more about improvising. And quite honestly, Tiberia didn't feel like improvising on this one.
The monster they were chasing was a deadly hydra who'd set a good chunk of Phoenicia ablaze back in the days. Now it was rampaging through Oregon. Because that's what happened when people opened the Doors of Death: old monsters escaped by the dozen and it was up to the demigods to risk their lives and track them down.
At least she had not been stuck with a newb. From what she'd heard, Jason was one of the Greek oldies, a skilled fighter and magician. (To be expected, from a son of Hecate.) He also towered one head above her and seemed to be made exclusively out of protein. Tiberia was used to demigods and legacies being ripped and all -- camp training was no joke -- but jeez.
"We need to find shelter soon," she told him over her shoulder. She was dressed in sturdy outdoor wear and combat boots, her hair tucked away under the hood of her jacket. With the thick sheet of rain and the wind howling in her ears, she had to speak extra loud to be heard.