Points For Trying (Elijah)

It was funny. Aaron excelled at pretty much everything at camp, fighting, training, sports, most of the academic stuff. Everything except Latin, which he should by all rights be basically fluent in after two years of studying it. But he just couldn't understand it. Not for a lack of effort or simply just not being interested, but he just struggled so much to remember what went where and how to pronounce things. Of course, he had a basic mastery of it - he'd never have passed his probatio period otherwise, but anything more advanced than standard sentences or the more common orders spoken at camp? Not a chance. That was one of the many reasons why he was in the training arena. Practicing his combat techniques wasn't particularly exciting, admittedly, but it did let him vent all of the frustration a night trying to improve Latin sentence structure had built up.

The camp was usually quiet this early in the morning. Aaron wasn't exactly sure what the time was, but it was earlier than the majority of Camp Jupiter's legionnaires forced themselves out of bed, which was usually for either breakfast or roll call. So, he presumably had the arena to himself for the next hour or two until people started trailing in to get some practice before breakfast or to spar, watch, whatever. He just liked being able to train in private. Granted, he didn't do it often, but the more weapons he learned how to use, the better he could stand up to a gung-ho, crazy Mars kid in a sparring match. Or a monster. Whichever one came first.

So naturally, he decided to begin practicing with a bow, walking over to one of the arena's various weapon stands and picking one up along with a handful of five or six arrows. Taking a position about ten to fifteen meters away from the dummy he was using as practice, he placed all but one of the arrows point down into the ground and knocked the remaining one to the bow. Aaron took a deep breath to steady his aim, drew back the bowstring and... Nothing. He'd completely missed the target and the arrow clattered off into the background, building up even more frustration, rather than relieving it. Letting out a sigh of annoyance, the demigod glared at nobody in particular. "Maybe I should just stick with using a sword. Might actually be able to hit things that way." he grumbled, preparing to fit another arrow to the bow.

(Sorry if it isn't great. Still trying to get a handle on the character and all.)

The morning hadn't necessarily started off the way Elijah had hoped.  It had been awhile since he had dragged Jack out running and training, and the boy was really hoping to do so...but his boyfriend had refused to get out of bed, and the small boy was forced to tackle the hot and humid morning on his own.  These things were always easier with the son of Venus...but he wasn't there, so the boy had to do it on his own.  He could give the other a scolding later...and possibly some threatening, since that often seemed a lot more productive.  The son of Discordia had started off grumpily, trying to dress appropriately for the weather and all.  He had pulled on his running shoes, some shorts, and a tank top...clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in otherwise.  Elijah had kissed Jack goodbye, to which he got a half awake, I love you, just get back into bed, please? and had set off for his typical run and training routine.

Everything was sort of weird since Elijah had gotten glasses.  Of course he knew he needed them, but it was still weird having them.  Especially when it came to running and training, since they never wanted to stay on his nose properly.  The fact that he kept having to push them up the bridge of his nose was a giant annoyance, and every morning the boy prayed he would just get used to them already.  No such luck.  That day would come...or so he hoped.  The opticians in New Rome hadn't had too wide a selection of glasses, though the thick plastic frames looked really good on Elijah.  Jack was constantly raving about them, and how sexy the small boy looked in them.  Something about not being able to tell if Elijah was about to beat someone up or pick up a thick tome all in Latin.  Versatile glasses, or something.  The man was also ecstatic that Elijah had gone back to his normal hair color.  He had promised up and down that he liked the purple...but he liked the black better.  It was good enough for the small boy.  The glasses had to stay anyway, of course.

By the end of his run, Elijah was completely drenched in sweat.  He still hated late summer mornings in Montauk.  Bridgewater was so much nicer in the summer.  The boy definitely missed when a heat wave meant barely 80-degrees.  Sucking down half his water bottle, the boy slowly walked down to the arena, trying to cool down a bit before getting to work there.  Gods, he couldn't wait for a shower.  If he wasn't on a schedule, he'd take one now and then come train...and take another after that.  But that wasn't how it worked.  "Bracchae," the boy mumbled, dragging some straw dummies into the corner.  There was one other person in the arena, a tall blonde that Elijah wasn't sure he knew.  Probably by name, as the Praetor knew pretty much every Roman legionnaire by name, but it wasn't like they all went around wearing name tags.  He didn't waste too much time looking at the boy...the son of Discordia always figured that people in the arena this early didn't especially want to be bothered.  It was part of his own motive.  If the other boy needed something, Elijah would do what he could and then be done with it.

Flipping open the latches of his golden apple poison rings, Elijah's daggers appeared in his hands.  Just as he got a good grip on them, something whizzed by his head, making the boy jump and spin around.  He saw what it had been in an instant- the other boy in the arena was holding a bow...a stray arrow must have flown by Elijah's head.  It made him a bit grumpier than it should have, but with everything else, the last thing the boy wanted was stray arrows.  It was one of those moments when he wished he had stayed in bed with his boyfriend.  "Hey," the boy called, picking up the arrow and pushing his glasses up his nose.  He maintained a steady mantra of be nice, be nice.  "I think I have your arrow here," he jogged over to the blonde and held out the arrow.  Be nice, be nice.  "I certainly hope I wasn't your intended target," he smiled.  That didn't sound mean...hopefully.

When someone came running out from behind his target with his arrow in hand, Aaron knew that he'd screwed up big-time.  He hadn't noticed the guy before for some reason, most likely because he wasn't paying enough attention to actually look around for anyone prior to beginning his horrible excuse for archery. There wasn't usually anyone else in the arena at the same time as him, so the demigod had clearly had a 'blonde' moment and assumed it'd be the same most mornings. Obviously it was a terrible assumption, further accentuated by the fact that he'd almost caused an arrow-related injury with his carelessness. The Roman began to mentally admonish himself as he relaxed his grip on the bow and placed the arrow he'd been in the motion of nocking back into the ground, preparing for what would no doubt be a very loudly administered complaint from whoever it was that he'd nearly shot.

As the other person drew closer, Aaron did his best to place a name to their face. He wasn't someone from his cohort and he didn't recognize him from any of the others. Maybe he was a prob- Oh. It turned out that he'd been thinking of the wrong people. The short guy running toward him was, in fact, one of the legion's two Praetors. Praetor Elijah Emmanuel, to be more specific. Aaron had never met him face to face, but basically everyone who wasn't new to the legion knew who he was. From what little he actually knew of him besides the fact that he was a Praetor, Aaron knew that the son of Discordia could get angry at people. Very angry, even. How would he react to almost being shot by one of the unclaimed legionnaires from the Fourth Cohort? Aaron had a couple of guesses, and none of them ended particularly well for him. At best, he could see himself on latrine duty for a month.

Aaron was mildly surprised when the Praetor instead offered his arrow back to him. The tall demigod had been expecting something much worse, so he took the arrow back from him with a relieved smile. How did you address a Praetor in this situation? It was probably a far better option to simply call him by his rank and surname rather than his first name, though he knew that different people preferred to be called different things. Considering it for a moment, he settled on the former. "Sorry about that, Praetor. I didn't see you and I certainly wasn't aiming for you." he paused momentarily. "If you want, I could come back later. Just so I don't almost shoot you again."

One of the things about training in the arena was that other people were training in the arena.  As this thought dawned on Elijah, he felt less grumpy.  It would be ridiculously unfair of him to get mean over something that was just as much someone else's right as his...only because he had had a rough start to the morning.  So what if that was the son of Discordia's default?  He still had a duty as a Praetor to remain appropriate.  And besides, Elijah was a much different person than he had once been.  Even if 'volatile' was still his default, it was more more of in a chaotic sense than the hitting someone sense.  He was getting much better when it came to physical violence.  Keeping all this in mind, Elijah felt more comfortable about not getting frustrated at the boy with the bow and arrows.  In a quick moment, the boy was able to turn his thoughts around.  He wasn't just behaving nicely...he was thinking nicely.

These were big steps for Elijah in general.  He was continuing to grow like that...with so many thanks to Jack, River, and all the other friends the boy had made over the past three years.  Though the small boy knew he still had quite a reputation, with good reason, it was easier to contend that these days.  Hopefully the boy working on archery didn't judge Elijah too quickly...though the Praetor was sure, if the other knew of Elijah's reputation, he'd be frightened enough at the thought of the mere possibility of pissing the small boy off.  Which meant Elijah had to be reassuring and understanding.  Even that seemed more doable...with a quiet chuckle, the boy thought about getting to brag to Jack about changing his attitude.  Gods knew the son of Venus was constantly pushing his boyfriend to do just that.  And even more than that...this was a chance for the Praetor to start fixing his reputation.  In the end, Elijah theorized, it came down to reassuring one legionnaire at a time.

The boy spoke...Elijah could hear the concern in his voice.  One legionnaire at a time.  "It's fine, legionnaire," bracchae, what was his name?  The boy's smile was feeling a bit more natural.  "And please, just call me Elijah.  I prefer that outside of the Principia," the boy really tried to be open and accessible.  It was a sort of offset from Calix.  While Calix was level headed and logical, Elijah was emotional and unpredictable.  Even with his reputation, the boy worked hard to be someone people could come to.  "Your aim was a bit off...but it happens to the best of us," Elijah had never tried archery, but the same held true to swords and daggers...or so he figured.

Though Elijah wished he could remember who this camper was.  He felt bad about not knowing.  Rationally, the boy knew that he couldn't just know everyone...but the Praetor wasn't too good at rational.  Hopefully the other boy took the initiative to introduce himself.  And not get angry that the son of Discordia didn't know him from his face alone.  Was that the sort of thing that made him less of a leader?  Gods, Elijah really hated these types of moments.  Because he was probably fine, but his insecurities tended to shine through in these times.  "Sum bonus homo," he breathed in Latin...barely above a whisper, so the other boy would have no way of hearing.

"Come back later?" Elijah's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  He played with the side of his glasses.  "That's not an issue at all!  The arena is just as much yours as it is mine.  You can be here whenever you damn well please," the boy smiled.  He didn't want anyone to feel that way about a place that was for everyone, like the arena was.  Elijah could be a bit tetchy, but he wasn't unreasonable.  "I don't know how I could help with archery, but if there's anything...I'll see what I can do," going the extra mile was always good...and the least Elijah could do.