Burning The Midnight Oil ((Calla))

Calix woke up at two in the morning, got out of bed and tied his sword around his waist. He didn't yawn, he didn't try to crawl back under the sheets and get more sleep. He was wide awake just like every other early morning. Calix moved back toward the bed just to pull some sheets back in place and began to make his way toward the door. Calix remembered the first time he did this, the beginning of this habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night. Phoenix felt much heavier at his side than it had ever in his entire time living at Camp Jupiter. It's been a week and, disturbingly, nothing has changed. Calix made a face and tightened the strap that secured the gladius to he sweatpants. Any more and he wouldn't be able to breathe. Sighing quietly, Calix hefted the end of the sword with one hand and walked out of the room. Calix peered out into the darkness of the Principia, to make sure he was completely alone. And when he didn't see the shift of anyone's shadow, crossed the floor to the door. If he opened the door and stepped out into the air in the next thirty seconds he had a solid two hours to get something done. Nights prior, Calix noticed that Elijah woke sometime a bit after five to go jogging. He'd nearly been caught those instances and now made it another part of his cycle to get back to his room an hour before his partner exited his own room. So Calix left before he completed the thought and made his way... toward the Arena.

That was Calix's new habit. Going to the Arena at odd hours in the night to train. Once the nightmares woke him, he'd take advantage of the frustration he felt at still not being able to stand up to himself by training. Yes, stand up to himself. Ever since the night the Greek daughter of Somnia, Sephrenia helped tame Calix's nightmares, they haven't caused him to toss and turn rather painfully in the night and wake up in a cold sweat. He was able to sleep through it quietly... mostly because the majority of the horrors were now gone. Instead of screaming and torture and death and more screaming and then an eventual drowning.... only the 'more screaming' part happened. Calix found himself in the same forest he did in the first dream with the same path lit by the unseen light. But no urge to follow it. Calix followed the path on his own volition, knowing that nothing waited for him at the end... unless he called on it. Throughout his trek, Calix actually looked around him at the trees where'd he'd sometimes see a flash of blonde hair or hear the strumming of a harp. But Calix could never follow these apparitions because, when he tried to walk through the trees, he'd always end up right back on the path. Eventually, the Praetor reached the end... where he had a choice. To wake up from the dream, feeling disappointed that he hadn't at least tried or wake up from the dream slightly trembling out of disappointment and rage that he hadn't done more. Either way it ended with Calix picking up Phoenix and heading to the Arena in hopes that physical training would help his mentality... it hasn't.

That didn't stop him. Calix, aware of the guards posted all around Camp Jupiter, stayed a bit of a ways from the main cobblestone street and kept to the shadows. At least his stealth hadn't been too affected... guards were also stationed at the front entrance to the Arena, so the Praetor sneaked in through the back. He made a mental note to add guards there too once his purpose in fighting off his nightmares had been achieved. But at this rate... Calix doubted if it would ever. He entered the dark Arena and switched on the emergency lights so from the outside it still looked empty. He surveyed it. Clean and orderly with all the practice swords and shields and dummies put away neatly. Nice to know that order was still being kept even in his absence. Calix almost found this amusing. His counterpart, the chaotic part of the team, keeping order. Hopefully soon, he'd give Elijah the break he truly deserved and took responsibility. Calix thought this process he underwent every night was a step in the right direction. Enhancing a sense of self-discipline and schedule that he had lost when he... folded into himself. So Calix pulled out a dummy and then drew his sword. Hefting Phoenix with a slight bit of difficulty, Calix began hacking away. But slower, more precise, moving his feet in a carefully thought out pattern instead of frenzied footwork. Slow and steady. Even with this pace, Calix found himself starting to sweat. Calix trained and trained, time and sense falling away from him. Enough that he didn't notice someone walking in...

Calix grit his teeth. He felt his muscles tense and relax with each hit the dummy took. Calix had heard of how physical exertion helped mentally as well, got rid of stress and cleared the mind. But he didn't feel that part of the training. In fact, the Praetor felt a little more stressed than when he had entered the Arena. But his thoughts were just a jumble. An incoherent mess. As long as he didn't associate words with why he felt those feelings of desperation and pure frustration, he would be ok. He just had to continue hitting. And hitting. And hitting. Calix struck harder and more sloppily, but still slowly and deliberately. He sometimes hit his target barely enough to hurt, so he adjusted his stance and kept hitting, until he became off balance once more. He hoped that, if anyone were to see him (once he trained in the light of day... who in their right mind would dare to break curfew this late?) they wouldn't notice anything off. Not the dim light in his eyes or the way he sweated too easily. Calix nearly lowered his sword and called it quits, but he didn't allow it. Calix dealt a rather violent blow to the side of the dummy's head and was just wrenching his blade from the straw filled cranium just as the stranger made themselves known. The sound much different from his breathing and the whack of Phoenix startled him and caused the gladius to fall from his hands. Calix whirled around.

He must have looked like a madman, hand clenched but nothing held in them, bags under his eyes, skin pale, his blonde hair plastered to his face by sweat... but the person who stood before him, the girl... didn't seem terrified or even troubled by his appearance. At least, that's what Calix saw. He could be going crazy. It always seemed like he was. Calix shakily bent down and picked up Phoenix, but he never took his eyes off of the girl. A figment of his imagination. It must have been. Calix blinked a few times, straightening up enough so that the tip of his blade was the only part of it touching the ground. She hadn't gone yet. Was she waiting for a response? Of course she was. But what had she said?? It took another two seconds for all of it to come back to Calix. She had actually asked to join him in his training. Calix opened his mouth, ready to say no. But something stopped him from completely shooting her down. The Praetor couldn't place his finger on it... but there was something about the girl. Something.... familiar? But no. It couldn't be. Calix was still not fully recovered from his nightmares. Just dreaming. Only dreaming. Even so, he didn't know anyone at Camp... so why? Did she look so familiar? "This is a private session," Calix said curtly and made a move to turn back to the dummy.

It hit him at that moment. Like a truck. Who else would have the sheer nerve to sneak into the Arena with guards posted all over the place? Calix slowly turned back around to fully look at the intruder. No. Definitely more of a woman, but that was to be expected with them being separated for as long as they have. Calix guessed that's what threw him off in the first place. Seeing curves where they haven't been before and other obvious attributes that came with growing older... but looking closer, the Praetor saw more similarities than differences. Her hair, a lighter blonde than his, long and still reflecting the light. Her green-blue eyes (Calix vaguely remembered conversations trying to decide between one or the other) still alive and swimming with mischief and deep intelligence but, more prominently, fire. And, it might have been Calix's imagination, but the fire looked brighter... stronger... still... the same eyes. And the same old shorty he used to know. This almost made Calix smile. But was it? Could it be? "Calla?" How long had it been since Calix spoke that name? 

((I don't know, man. I was just feeling it tonight XD))

Calla wracked through her memory as the young man was whacking the training dummy quite sloppily.  Oh, please.  My mother could do better in her sleep, she commented in her mind.  She was feeling kind of stalkerish before she spoke up...Though, she was a little tempted to just go up and fix his form for him.  Calla had been envisioning a better, and quicker way that would involve less stumbling around.  The way he held himself didn't seem...accurate for the way he had been hitting the dummy.  Cal could tell that he was concentrating, but that was still no excuse for holding one's self the way he did, and still be stumbling around.  The Legacy wasn't even going to think about the speed, or lack thereof.

Callista really did feel bad for breaking concentration with a blow that easily could have decapitated the dummy...and for the gladius falling directly from his hand.  Hoc posset esse mala... thought the Legacy.  Calix, Calla could tell, wasn't expecting company. Given, it was two in the morning, and there would be very few people who would even contemplating breaking curfew.  Nevertheless, the whole making-herself-known thing could have been a very, very bad idea.  Calix had seen...better days, physically.  Calla's mind played a little flashback to when Calix wasn't the most muscular of guys.  With the memory, one side of her mouth curved up a smidgen.  At the messy hair glued to a sweat covered face, and pale skin, Calla wasn't phased, as she was certain that she had quite a few of those days.  As Calix picked up his gladius, Calla could tell that gears were grinding...either that, or he was freaked to see someone outside this late after curfew.  The two never broke eye contact until Calix blinked.  Again, there was eye contact, and nothing more than the sound of insects and animals stirring, and the steady beat of inhale and exhale.  Getting a little impatient, Calla's posture shifted to her left, and her arms across her chest--a post that Calix should remember, considering all of the times that Calla had given it when the two were younger.  "Any day, now, Calix," she said, looking up at him.  The Legacy noticed that Calix might had tried to say something, but in the end he just closed up again.  When he did finally answer, Calix replied quickly, and Calla had sensed a little bit of a tone that she was not expecting, making it clear that it was a private session.  Calla straightened up again, and her arms shot to her sides.  "Well, fine then," she said quickly, and a little snippy.

When Calix turned, Calla did as well.  Her stick-straight, blonde hair whipped around, and she pushed it out of her face while only her eyes looked at Calix.  He was looking at her again.  Slower than the previous turn, he faced him, "Change your mind, already?  I half-expected thirty seconds."  Calla started to get a little weirded out at all of the staring, but they hadn't seen each other in years.  When her name was said, she heard a twinge of disbelief in his voice.  "The one and only," she said, twirling to prove she was real.  "What, did you really think I would let myself die in that massacre?  I thought you knew me better than that, Calix."  

This was it. Calix had gone mad. An apparition stood in front of him. A solid ghost. A ghost that cast a shadow and fast-forwarded a few years to trick him. Turn a fantasy into a reality. Calix ran the back of his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. When his hand lowered, she still stood there. And she responded easily to everything he said. Surely a ghost couldn't do that. So a figment of his imagination then. Calix's mind went in a circle trying to figure out what could explain the sudden appearance of Calla. He hadn't heard her enter the Arena. He should have been able to. But then again, his current state may have accounted for his lack of... mind. So... the only conclusion.... she was real. Calla accused him of having no faith in her, not really knowing who she was, but Calix could beg to differ. Callista Torquatus. Nineteen years old. Grew up with him in New Rome with their parents being really close. Even from a young age when Calix was starting to fall into arrogance, Calla somehow put up with him.. well, put him in his place more than put up with him. And they remained friends. They saw each other grow, fought of course as friends often do in which Calla assumed the pose she did now, arms crossed, weight on her left, winning. No way could she be an apparition or a ghost.  

She had twirled to prove it. Calix couldn't exactly doubt what stood in front of him without looking more of an idiot than he already did. The Praetor lifted Phoenix but only to return the blade to the sheath. He planted himself firmly on the ground so that the extra weight wouldn't make him lean to one side as it usually did during his late night sessions. If this was Calla ('No,' he had to remind himself. 'It was Calla.') what would she think seeing him like this? Well, she probably already had an opinion. His job now was to make sure the opinion didn't worsen. And falling over because of a simple sword wouldn't help him at all.  Wanting to stay solid was a lot simpler than actually doing it. Calix leaned but thank the gods didn't completely fall. He grunted and righted himself. "Callista," he said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than his stance looked and ignoring her accusation. "You're out after curfew." He didn't care that he himself was breaking the rules. He was Praetor and as such had to enforce such rules. 

((Wow that was bad, I'm sorry!!))

"Vos es truces," the Legacy muttered.  Calix was still staring, saying nothing, and not really doing anything.  He ignored all of Calla's smart-aleck remarks...though that could easily be explained by the time of day, or whatever was going through his mind that made him look the way he did.  Nevertheless, Callista could see gears turning...And more staring.  "It's not polite to stare," Calla mumbled, awkwardly with nothing left to say.  "It's also frowned upon not even offering a greeting to an old friend whom you've not seen in years. Did you leave your manner in California, or something?"  Of course, calla was aware that she was also not being the most polite, but she was at least saying things more than one liners, and not just staring.  At least in the stance she was in Calix knew, from years of practice, he wasn't going to win the particular game.  Some way the Legacy was determined to get her company to talk.  The 'how,' though, was as of yet, rather difficult to win.

"Callista," the use of the full name was not something Calla was expecting.

"Are you really resulting to the--" Calla started, but was cut-off.

"You're out after curfew," Calix had noted.

"And for you to know that I am out, not by hearsay, that means you are too.  Since when you are above the law?" the woman countered.  "Even if you do have a high rank, I don't think you're supposed to be out this late, either."  She walked over to a rack of gladii.  "This still private or do you a challenge instead of a dummy?" she offered, picking up one of the weapons she had already mastered.  Wordlessly, she eyed the blade, and flipped it around her hand to get a proper grip.  She thought for a moment, "Or am I going to be unfairly punished for the same crime that you are committing while you get nothing of the sort?"  Calla was still looking at the blade, and away from Calix's staring eyes.  It was acceptable for the first twenty seconds, but any time after that, it becomes quite obnoxious.  

((-facewall- I'm sorry, that was dreadful....))

Calix couldn’t help but stare. It had been a while since he’d seen anyone he knew from the old New Rome, much less someone he actually remembered and missed. Calix just couldn’t believe it. All the memories from his old life were just that, memories. And most of them were too small, murky and insignificant to remember. A conversation with his mother about joining the Legion here, a training session with his father there, a few scornful words spoken by other children swam around as well, but he nothing too solid. Calix assumed that everything fell apart the moment he returned to the valley with Lupa and saw the damage firsthand. Calla had been right; part of him did believe that everybody he knew hadn’t survived the invasion. But there Calla stood, still tall and proud, accusing him for not greeting her properly and losing his manners. And for some reason, every single memory Calix had of a similar incident came flooding back.  The Praetor shifted a little bit, a tad embarrassed. Something only Calla could do and get away with it: call him out. “Hello…” he said quietly with a slight nod.

He should have guessed that Calla wouldn’t back down so easily. She pointed out the painfully obvious, how Calix was also out after curfew. He didn’t react. He could make a simple argument, say that he was out to catch rule breakers like her, as a re-enforcement to the guards posted all around, but that would be lying and he knew that Calla could be able to tell. Once again, a flood of memories came back. Funny. His own parents he couldn’t remember yet Calla was clear. Calix watched closely as Calla moved to pick up a sword, standing her ground. The nerve. Calling him out again and daring to remain when the Praetor could give her more responsibilities, knock her down a cohort or even humiliate her by throwing her in the Legion’s version of a prison. But Calix wouldn’t do that. Calla was too dear of a friend… that he had just run into. It wouldn’t be a good meeting if he did any of those things, and, once Calla got released or once she got the chance, she would hurt him pretty badly. The thought almost made Calix smile. He walked forward as she flipped the sword and continued to talk about the unfairness if he punished her while he was also breaking the rules. Another thing he remembered.

“You talk too much,” he said, actually allowing a bit of the smile to make itself seen. The fact that Calla had her eyes turned away from him made Calix painfully aware that he was still staring. Cursing himself mentally, Calix turned his own gaze away from his friend and looked down at the pommel of his sword. She had just offered to spar with him. Was he ready? The mere fact that he had to ask himself that answered the question. Still not looking at Calla to try to compensate for the staring, he answered. “No. But I will not fight you either.” ’Because I’m too weak. And I’m not going to give you satisfaction of beating me the first time we see each other in years.’ At least Calix’s ego was slowly healing. He smiled a bit wider. Calix shook his head. “I have trained enough for one night…” Hopefully she would accept that excuse as legitimate. He couldn’t see himself hurting anyone right now when he himself was so vulnerable. And he was beginning to feel a headache. Calix turned away and walked to a bench where he sat and wiped at his brow with a towel. He fiddled with a water bottle before taking a small drink.

And we continue the staring, Calla thought, pointedly.  Staring had never really bothered her until she hit about the age of fourteen, and even at that point, Calix should be able to remember how well, or ...rather...poorly the young Legacy tolerated it.  Calla could hardly remember the last time someone got away with the act unharmed.  That must have been something the two (Calla and Calix) had in common:  bending rules to protect the other.  If Calix really wanted to actually enforce rules, Calla would have been punished the instant she made herself known.  Honestly, Calla didn't have the hear to inflict the usual punishment for staring on Calix, so she let it slide.  She noticed a smidgen of a shift, made by Calix, though the motive of the motion was beyond Calla's mind.  If could have been relaxation, or it could have been pride falling from the obvious accusations...even the losing of manners, but Calla could really care less the reason just as much as she cared for the well-being of her father. "Hello," a foreign, yet familiar, quiet sound appeared out of nowhere, accompanied by a small nod.

The Legacy raised an eyebrow disapprovingly, and kept her arms crossed.  "Oh, well look at that!  He speaks, not on business.  What a rare sight," Calla quietly exclaimed, to not give any sign that there were people out after curfew.  "But a nod, Calix?  Really?  That is the best you can do after more than two and a half years?" she criticized.    Picking and destroying had been one of Calla's strategies for quite some time.  She would find holes in arguments, draw them out, and bury them with a single blow.  That was exactly what she did with Calix.  As he pointed something out, she would return with one blow.  Being out past curfew, just one example, how would the prosecutor know without hearsay if he wasn't there, as well?  This strategy was something Calla had done for years, and Calix should have remembered at least one occurrence.  The young woman knew that a first offence, particularly with Calix, wasn't going to be punished badly--if that, so she figured that she could continue her wishes.

As she eyed the gladius, she toyed with it, maneuvering it thought the air in slower, slashing movements.  She stopped and looked up when Calix talked again.  The Legacy raised and eyebrow once more.  "You talk too little," she replied, "ever think of that?  Besides, I wouldn't have to keep rambling if you even acknowledged it with some sort of verbal response."  Her concentration went back to the lade as she stabbed the air and tossed the gladius from her right hand to her left.  Her eyes flicked up and over at Calix when he denied her offer, "Oh, you're not afraid that I'm going to beat you, are ya?" she taunted, hoping he would take the bait.  There was something...the girl didn't know exactly what...that was off about Calix.  She had seen it earlier, but it--what ever it was--was more prominent when Calix rejected the offer Calla placed.  She could hardly remember the last time it happened.

Calla could not believe what she was hearing.  Calix?  Haring trained enough for the night?  She nearly dropped the gladius, which had returned to her right hand, after hearing it.  "Who are you, and what have you done with Calix?" she demanded.  "The Calix I know would never back down from a challenge, let alone admit he had enough training for the night.  Talk about a pride killer," Calla was certain the last comment would make him squirm, physically or not.  Pride was something that all Romans had, no matter who they were, or where they came from.  The Legacy knew it was something that Calix wouldn't be able to leave alone.  "I don't think that your father would be happy to hear his son is walking away from a decent opponent--particularly a Torquatus, knowing my family history..." Calla added a bit to get Calix to do what she wanted.  She knew that would get to him, so she used it to her advantage.  It was nice knowing something as leverage, considering Calix was one of the few people that she knew well enough to have something on him.

Calla’s expression didn’t change at Calix’s greeting. In fact, it almost looked more displeased and judgmental which confused Calix greatly. What? He’d said hello. But apparently it wasn’t enough for Calla. Calix’s lip quirked. Hard to impress as always. He looked steadily at her. If she wouldn’t accept his greeting, he would just stare at her until she did. Calla found Calix’s staring to be irritating much like he viewed her tendency to speak in a sarcastic tone and see through almost everything he did. It didn’t seem that his friend would take back her biting words. What more did she want? Calix practically gave her a pass to get out of the Arena before any of the guards sensed something out of the ordinary and walked in. Calix could probably get away with it easily considering he hadn’t shown himself around the camp at all over the last few months. He’d explain how it was part of his coping process and disturbing it was rude on the part of the guard. What could Calla concoct? Knowing her, something just as plausible. But it didn’t mean that Calix would get Calla caught. Even though this was a Legion of highly trained Roman demigods, they were still teenagers and rumors spread. Especially about two people alone in the Arena at night. Calix kept his eyes trained on Calla. “What?” he asked, still as quietly and curtly as before. “Do you want a kiss?” If Calix was being sarcastic, his voice didn’t give it away.

Calix was highly intrigued at Calla’s skill with the sword she held. It looked to come a lot simpler than it had been in the past. Perhaps the training of her father and Lupa? Possibly. He knew that Calla was a quick learner and very eager to have a new trick in her arsenal. But he felt something and saw something like he did when he looked into Calla’s eyes. The same fire but a lot more powerful. Could it be that Calla found out her Legacy as well? He almost asked, but her comeback to what he said concerning her talking constituted the conversation to steer back in that direction. Calix already knew what she said was true. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t like to talk. She should have known that. She probably did know that and was running her mouth on purpose. It had been so long since he’d heard that voice. Perhaps that’s what she wanted from him. A chance to hear his voice again. Then again, would the strong-willed woman have such a sentimental goal in mind? Probably not. Still, that didn’t stop Calix from replying. It would have been  inappropriate to leave her hanging like that after all. “I speak when it is necessary,” he said. ’And lately, that was becoming less and less often.’ At Calla’s taunt, Calix’s expression didn’t change.

Yes, the Legacy of Bellona was slightly afraid of the outcome. He’d already made a shaky peace with the fact that Calla would have him on the ground in half a minute, and he wasn’t pleased with it. Of course, being as prideful and competitive as they were, their first meeting had to have some sort of contest to see which out of the two of them would outdo the other. Any other night on any other month in any other situation, Calix would have been happy to oblige. But now, looking at the way she handled the sword and how utterly weak he felt hefting his own weapon, Calix didn’t see himself engaging in any sort of swordplay anytime soon. By the gods, the mere thought of it sent another wave of exhaustion through the Praetor. He had to strain to keep his eyelids from drooping. Calla suddenly snapped at him, a whole lot louder than her previous accusations had been. Calix actually jumped and looked around them to make sure that no one burst in. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed harshly. After she had calmed a little, Calix was near furious. Everything she said DID get to him. But not enough to have him charging at her. Calix knew that Calla was aiming to get him annoyed enough at her to strike. But everything that she said only made Calix frustrated at himself. “I’m not the Calix you know. But you are definitely the same old… Calla.”

Despite everything, the comment that got to him the most was the one about his father. About his father not being too pleased. About him letting his father down by not accepting Calla’s challenge. Calix’s palm was placed over Phoenix. The anger that could have been seen in the way his forehead wrinkled and eyebrows came together, faded fast and he felt a sharp headache coming on. All this thinking was definitely not good for his current state. Calix sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands. A gesture that spelled out his official defeat. “I have done many things my father would not approve of.” Allowing a gate guard to be killed and not stopping to help. Abandoning the Legion when an intruder might have been lurking in its very walls. Still the letters from the former Praetor were on his desk… completely unopened. He lifted his head but avoided looking at Calla altogether. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind something as simple as this.” He stood. “You should leave…”

"Do I want a what?" Calla spat.  "No, I think that I'm fine without that.  I just like having a real greeting--you should remember that."  Frankly, a kiss from Calix was a very foreign thought.  Not to mention what a kiss with him lead a few other girls to do, Calla didn't really like her chances with escaping from that.  And, she couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, which just completely threw her into a loop.  There were no hints of sarcasm, though the Legacy knew Calix  enough to pick up his jokes, but that one in particular...she was second guessing herself.  Also, what sort of gossip would zoom around should anyone find out the event.  Foolish drama that calla wouldn't want to involve herself with after just getting back from a year-and-a-half-ish hiatus.

Callista remembered that Calix was more of a man of action, rather than words.  Nevertheless, the Legacy was determined to have a conversation with her old friend, and his stubbornness wasn't going to get in the way.  "I speak when necessary," Calix said.  The obvious statement sent a wave of some sort of emotion, one (or even a group) that the Legionnaire culdn't describe fully.  Within it, however, was abandonment, which was the most prominent.  "Well, it's nice to know that friends are unnecessary..." she muttered, planting the point of the blade in the ground.  "Or, just friends you have not seen in years, and though died in battle that aren't necessities?" Calla shot him a quick glare.  Her eyes then flitted down to her gladius, as she lifted it from the ground.

The Legacy continued to think of ways to get Calix to talk, or to get him to spar with her.  But Calix still wasn't acting like himself, and that bothered the woman.  She was ordered to keep her voice down, and obeyed.  The previous accusation must have been louder than the Legacy anticipated.  She hadn't intended her voice to be that loud, but it didn't seem like guards were nearby, as there was no apparent rustling outside of the dimly lit arena.  Calix explained how he wasn't the same, but somehow he thought that Calla was just as she left.  She shook her head, "I'm not the same as I was.  There are some things that stayed the same, yes, but most are dissipated."  The Legacy of Mars paused a moment, before adding, "One thing that has stayed is the fact that I'd beat you in a sparring match, but you're too cowardly to accept my challenge."  Another opportunity for taunting was wide open, so she utilized it.  Oh, how she had missed that.  It seemed like an eternity had passed since she was able to use something so simple to taunt someone with (even though Calix was being stubborn).  "Actually," Calla murmured, "I haven't been the same since Prim died..."

Speaking the name of her late sister made a lump appear in the woman's throat.  Primrose, Calla thought,  and fought a stray tear from falling.  Luckily for her, no tears fell from her eyes.  She looked down, and blinked the mist away from her color-confused eyes.  The Legacy of Mars had a memory flash before her eyes, when she met her father for the first time in years, the glimmer of hope in his eye when he saw the girl...only to have it destroyed, like the original Camp Jupiter, with one little word.  The lump in her throat that had disappeared when the mist from her eyes did, had returned, and Calla gulped it down, refusing to allow herself to be so vulnerable in the presence of someone who hadn't see her like that.  She couldn't remember a time that the level of vulnerability as she felt when thinking about her sister, but something may have been comparable from early childhood...

Calla looked back up and her eyes found Calix looking defeated, head in hands, sitting on a bench.  "Silly Calix," she mused, shaking her head, "you should know that I wouldn't accept your defeat until it has been earned."  Truth be told, Calla was simply bored with not having a worthy sparring opponent, and she was curious with what Calix had learned over her hiatus.

"I'm sure you have, considering the player you were, and, for all I know, are.  Unless, of course, that has changed as well.  If so, I am certainly proud of you," she grinned, devilishly.  "And, 'something this simple,'" the Legionnaire mocked, "is being denied with no reason."

Calla watched her friend stand, and suggest she left.  Automatically, she crossed her arms, and shot him a look that he wouldn't have trouble remembering, as she had given the same one numerous times in years passed.  Stubbornly, she said, "I'm not leaving until forced, or I suffer a disappointing defeat.  But, I think that you and I both know the latter is the least probable of the list, considering you look like crap..."

Calix felt refreshed to see Calla even a little bit flustered. Even though she snapped at him once more, Calix was pretty certain that such a rash suggestion coming from someone who usually kept it as level and professional as him would affect her in some way. How it affected him, Calix couldn’t quite say. He knew that Calla’s rejection had another reason other than the fact that a kiss from him was unheard of between the two of them, but he expected that to be the main reason. Calix and Calla knew each other from childhood, and the relationship going further than friendship was unheard of. A bit ironic considering the more minor reason for her complete aversion to the idea of a kiss. Calla still must have seen him as the old womanizer he used to be in California. If he told her how he’d changed, he wasn’t sure if she’d believe him or not. But while he had changed… Calla’s next comment took his mind from that train of thought and spun it in a way he couldn’t control. He frowned in the girl’s direction. How could she possibly think something like that? “That’s ridiculous,” he said quietly. Along with being a womanizer, the California version of Calix was also highly arrogant and prideful. But in all honesty, when he’d heard of the destruction of Camp Jupiter and the deaths of many demigods and citizens, Calla’s face passed his mind and an icy fist took hold of his heart. He didn’t know how to express this to Calla. Calix didn’t know how to use words.

And during those rare times that he did, he still found some sort of way to say something wrong. Calla disputed his claim to the similarities she shared with the Calla he had left behind, and she did it with one simple word: ‘Prim’. Calix didn’t think he could feel worse that night, but somehow he managed. Calix opened his mouth, trying to offer his condolences, but he was speechless. He could only watch as Calla lowered her head. Calix made a move to get up from the bench and offer Calla consolation, but he knew that the girl would disdain the gesture rather than appreciate it. He remembered how he himself didn’t even allow someone to give him a sympathizing look after… no he couldn’t think about it. Calix took a deep breath and closed his eyes as well, urging the thoughts away. In a way, he saw himself in Calla… at least when it came to loss. The attempts at keeping it together only to break down. But Calla didn’t break down. She kept it together, even at a memory so painful. At this moment, in many more ways than one, Calla was stronger than him. Not that he would admit this aloud. Calix looked Calla square in the eye and hoped that every ounce of sincerity could be seen in his eyes and heard in his words. “I am… so sorry… for your loss…” He hoped that she would accept this easier than a physical sentiment.

Everything sentimental seemed to fade away, however, when Calla resumed her taunts. He should have known that she’d never back out of a fight so easily. Calla took an opportunity to take a dig at the way he used to be, and the Praetor cringed. She did say how she would have been proud if his ways as a ‘player’ had been changed, but Calix swore that he heard disbelief in that statement. Her wide and mischievous grin made something at the corner of Calix’s lip curl up the tiniest bit. But still the discomfort grew. He didn’t know what to make of the smirk and wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t believe his change of heart. It’s not like that mattered anymore anyway. The reason for his heart’s transformation… no he couldn’t think about it. Calix forced himself to stop and focus on what Calla was saying… more challenges. More taunts. More poking him with a stick and hoping he jumped up sick and tired of the treatment and finally give her what she wanted. All Calix wanted was to lie down. To sleep and forget this ever happened. Maybe sometime in the future he and Calla could catch up. When everything felt a bit more normal. But would that time ever come?

Calla’s act of defiance was as normal as Calix ever remembered the girl, and this nearly made him feel better. The look she gave him sent a tremor of memories through him, some of them bad and most of them endearing. Even though, as a child, he’d return the look and they’d stare at each other until one of them blinked. That one was usually Calix. Calix crossed his arms as well and raised an eyebrow, a normal movement and one he hadn’t done in the longest time. With the last taunt, Calix made up his mind. He wanted Calla to leave. So he would fight. Something happened in him, something gave him a little bit more energy. Calix’s hand went to the gladius at his side. His hand closed around the grip, and, with one smooth movement, he pulled the blade free. Still, with his eyes trained on Calla, he lowered the sword so the tip touched the ground. “How could I refuse a friend?” He asked, his voice at the same near-whisper tone. Calix flexed his fingers on the sword, already feeling his grip slipping, his hand getting sweaty. It never did that. That one burst of energy was now gone, and Calix sorely regretted falling for Calla’s taunting. But he couldn’t back down now. He took a shaky breath and hefted Phoenix. “Ladies first.”

((I feel really shifty about this one. I hope it's ok))

There was no response to the flat-out rejection of affection.  Calla wasn’t going to complain.  Maybe the lack of sleep had gotten the best of calix, and perhaps he had realized what he was saying, or he just thought her reasons were valid.  Either way, Calla dropped the subject.  She looked at Calix as the expression on his face morphed into a frown.  “If it is ridiculous, then the least you could do is prove me wrong, and I might consider thinking differently about it,” she retorted.  Calla hoped it would get Calix to open up a little, but she didn’t set her expectations very high.  The idea of Calix actually defending himself like that didn’t see too foreign, but it wasn’t like Calla was going to easily change her mind.  Nevertheless,  Calla waited for a response of some kind, though her expectations were slim.  She just wanted something to resemble home.  Physically, this new camp was a spitting image of the old one, but it was just missing something.  It wasn’t what she wanted, either, not even in the slightest bit.  It wasn’t good enough that the new camp replicated the old one, it felt like half of the entire existence of Camp Jupiter was just gone...completely, without any traces, second thoughts, or remembrances.  She wanted the old camp, with her sister...Alive; all of her friends, not just the few stragglers (though, Calla wouldn’t even think about changing anything that happened after the attack with Sienna apart from the two getting separated); but most importantly, she wanted things to be normal…

Like that was ever going to happen again, anyway…

With her twin gone, “normal” wasn’t so normal.  Keeping her head down, all Calla could do was fight herself, just as she’d been doing since the news was broken the first time.  The Legacy hated it to the point where she would get frustrated with herself, and end up acting like Primrose was still alive, just to stop feeling weak, and to actually have a piece of her mind slightly normal.  Callista was completely aware that it wasn’t a very healthy solution, but she didn’t know what else to do.  She glanced up just as Calix apologized.  Her gaze went back down instantaneously, and closed her eyes for a second, shoving every emotion that was related to her sister, and looked back up taking a deep breath, and exhaling as her gaze met his eyes.  “Thank you, but you don’t have to be,” she said, softly.  “I’m over it,” she lied, trying to sound just as convincing as the truth of her words just before.  Calix didn’t have to be sorry for Calla, and frankly, she prefered that he wouldn’t.  All dwelling around on her sister did was made Calla weaker.  Adding pity onto that would be unbearable.  Besides, she had barely slept, and hadn’t eaten nearly as much as she should have since she’d been there.  All of that had taken a toll on her, but (just as before) she wouldn’t admit to any of it.  To top off her physical weakness, becoming emotionally compromised would practically destroy Calla’s “life” outside of her cohort.  She had spent the majority of her days, whilst not on guard duty, in the arena picking up where she had left off before the attack.  She, still, despised the fact that guard duty pulled her out of training.  In her early days of her return, Calla didn’t talk to very many people; however, once Sienna showed up, Calla’s social life jumped a bit, but still only with Si; even then, Calla still spend most of her days burning off unwanted energy, and the occasional unwanted emotion, such as the ones she just experienced accompanied with thinking of her sister.  Though, Calla was far from over it, considering she tensed up whenever an unfamiliar guy would so much as glance at her in the wrong way at the wrong time…

But, to prove her lie, Calla resumed her teasing, taunting, or simply Calla being herself, depending on how someone looked at the situation, and knew the history Calix and Calla had shared.  She smiled when Calix mirrored.  “Don’t blink,” she said through her smile, and letting it vanish just after she spoke.  Blink and you’re dead, she couldn’t help but continue the quote from her favourite show.  She stayed in that position silently, until the last taunt left her mind and found its way into the real world.  She wouldn’t break eye contact...or rather...break the glares they were shooting each other.  However, when she heard the familiar sound of a blade being unsheathed, the grin creeped its way back onto her face.  Gotchya, she thought, victoriously.  When he questioned her, she responded, with a simple, “Don’t ask me, you’re the one who’s been resisting.”  Calla picked up her gladius so the tip wasn’t completely up, and at the ready, but so it wasn’t touching the ground, either.  She looked at him for a second, and he didn’t look his best.  She put the tip back on the ground, and looked at him once again.  “Are you sure?  You don’t look so good,” she said, a little concerned about him.  Although she did care about his well-being, it would be far too out of the ordinary to pass up making another teasing comment… “Because, if you’re not feeling your best, I don’t want to beat you with less of a fight, because you’re weak, Calix…  That would be far too easy.”  Nevertheless, she watched him raise his ever-trust sword, and invite her to make the first move.  Callista lifted her gladius up, and held it in a position ready to fight.  Shaking her head, she countered, “Age before beauty, Krill.”  She motioned for him to make the first move, not caring that she was, in fact, the eldest of the formerly inseparable duo.

((-cough- ....Late...but I hope it's okay >.>))

Calix recognized that look Calla shot his way. For Legacies of war gods, the two had entirely different approaches to… well, everything. Calla liked to say everything that came to mind whereas Calix (even though it probably didn’t seem like it at times like the comment about the kiss) thought through every single thing he said. Granted, the boy didn’t have much social experience, so despite having thought things through they sometimes came out wrong and posed a whole new set of problems for him, but he tried. Not hard enough as made evident by his slip-up with Calla. Conveniently, Calix had run into this wall a few times prior and thought he knew how to climb it effectively. The fact made the Praetor wonder about all the other times he said the wrong thing around the girl. And for a moment, Calix saw himself back in the original New Rome, having said something stupid to Calla and trying to get back in her favor. Considering they were best friends (Calix hoped he could still call himself that or that they could become so again), it didn’t take much and with the prior hope in mind, Calix shrugged. “Come on, Calla,” he said quietly, his mouth twitching into a small yet sad smile. “You know you’re my number one.” It was something that Calix always used to tell her. His number one. His best friend. His partner. Saying it again lifted a small amount of the weight on his heart and filled a small part of his heart where her absence left a hole.

Thinking more on it, Calix realized how many holes in his heart he had to live with. The one only now being slowly healed by Calla, the others by his other friends left behind in Berkeley. Even a bit by his parents who he hadn’t contacted since the incident. That’s when the biggest gap began to hurt. Calix physically felt it in his chest, and his hand went up and touched where his heart should have been not the piece of Swiss cheese in its place. He wondered about Calla. If she hurt as much as he did. Or maybe more. They were blood after all. Calix shook his head in an indiscernible way. It wasn’t a contest. People hurt, no matter the extent. It still felt. Horribly painful. Calix took a deep breath, keeping an eye on Calla just in case she suddenly broke down (unlikely, knowing her) and at the same time trying to remain in check himself. She looked up briefly at him before turning her eyes to the ground again and muttering those three golden words that Calix knew he himself would never utter. That she was over it. Calix wondered how long ago Prim left the world and how long Calla mourned. And almost more importantly, how the feat was accomplished. He didn’t dare ask. They weren’t there to compare notes. Calix didn’t matter. He just had to make sure Calla was okay. That old instinct sprang up in the Praetor and remained there at a sort of low simmer even when Calla began to poke fun at him again.

Calix looked steadily at her, gauging her reactions, the shifts in her expressions. The second Calla quoted from that favorite show of hers (that Calix only saw maybe once or twice but knew a bit thanks to her), he blinked, and then chuckled lightly even though the smile was long gone from Calla’s face. “I think I would take a Weeping Angel over you any day,” he muttered under his breath. In the face of his enemies and adversity, Calix always kept a calm head. He refrained from making decisions too rashly and on the off chance he did, the consequences were dire. The point being, Calix chose his battles wisely… for the most part. And he knew that a fight with the girl would only end badly for him. That didn’t mean he was opposed to sparring her. As long as he knew she would put down her gladius once he yielded. He spied Calla lifting her blade, and Calix tightened his grip on Phoenix, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, readying for the fight. He steeled himself. ‘Give her a decent spar. Don’t show your weakness.’ But even before Calix blocked the first strike, Calla was already questioning his health.

Immediately his shoulders slackened, and the sword dropped from his hand. A wave of dizziness and slight nausea took him, and Calix fell on his backside. He bent his head and began to breathe heavily. Calix was aware of his hands shaking and the slow heaving of his chest. He gulped painfully and looked up. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d hit the deck, but he swore that was quickest Calla had ever defeated him. The thought made him chuckle again. “You forget Calla…” his voice a bit croakier than previous. Who knew trying to be energetic drained your remaining energy? “You’re older than me.”