O, hello Mr Praetor. ((Elijah))

((Set very soon after Saar arrived))

Saar sat on his bunk, the leather bound book resting in his hands; it had been at the top of his literary priorities for a lot longer than he felt comfortable with.  Running his fingers across its smooth surface, he couldn't help but marvel in how well the tome had aged. The demigod had no idea how the book had survived the fall of New Rome, but when he'd swung by the Californian based camp, looking for a new home, all he'd gotten for his troubles was the ancient book. Saar still had no idea how the devastation had come to be, but he'd come to accept the rubble that now replaced the once vibrant community. Setting the book down, he sighed. Now wasn't the time for reading; that would come with familiarity and completed responsibility. He was a member of the legion now, and legionnaires didn't sit around reading when they should be doing their duties. But what were his duties? Cicero hadn't been as clear as Saar would have liked, but then again, he was still very new to it all. Letting his gaze wander around the room, taking in as many details as he could, Saar tried to work out what the rest of his cohort was like. A messy bunk reflected on a messy personality; either one too busy to take care of the little things, or one who didn't care. The notion that someone might simply be too lazy never crossed his mind; this was the legion after all. The state of demigod's bunks varied from exceedingly crumpled and ruffled to perfection.  All the while, light from the setting sun streamed through the room, lighting the barracks up with an orange glow.

Saar had yet to meet his Centurion, let alone his Praetors, and curiosity was gnawing away at his soul. He wanted - no,  needed to know what paragons held the honours. They were the pinnacle of Roman society in his opinion, and could do no wrong. Unzipping his battered rucksack, Saar slid his precious book the bag, before hiding it beneath his bunk. Straightening up, he looked around the room again, searching for something to do. Hating how useless he felt, he strode towards the door. If he wasn't contributing to the legion in some respect, he was wasting his time as well as theirs. Yanking open the door, Saar stepped through it quickly... straight into a much smaller demigod.

There were some days where Elijah refused to do anything.  Stubborn days, where the boy packed his bag and stormed out of the Principia, not even bothering to see what sort of work was piling up at the main table in the main room.  Those were the days where the small boy just didn't care, and all he wanted to do was hide in the First Cohort barrack in Jack's arms.  It was definitely getting too warm to hide out under the covers, but Jack's arms were a shield enough.  The son of Venus had left his boyfriend's room early that morning.  When the son of Discordia's alarm went off at 5:45 (like always...or most of the time, anyway), Jack had opted to go back to his barrack than go out running and training with Elijah.  He had been all ready for Muster (a rarity that made Elijah proud), so as far as the small boy knew, he was still in the barrack (though a few hours had passed).  The First Cohort barrack seemed like a good place to start looking, at the very least.  Jack had been better about his Centurion duties, probably because of the month he went actually doing them, but Elijah knew he was getting out as well.  There were still plenty of times he came to bother the small boy in the Principia, but he was getting better about that, too.

But right now, it was time for Elijah to bother Jack.  He didn't want to deal with whatever work he had to do, or anyone who came into the Principia whining about one thing or another.  Calix was always offering to cover any days that Elijah wanted off, though Elijah had gifted seven days away from the Principia (to be taken at random or all at once), so he figured they were kind of even.  At any rate, if the small boy had to sit at that table and deal with Praetor stuff, he was going to scream.  The boy was good.  The boy was usually good, despite his volatile and violent nature.  He was a good leader.  Wise and helpful and passionate about what he did.  Working as a Praetor had been a very educational experience for Elijah...he wouldn't change that for anything.  But sometimes he needed a breather so nothing bad would happen.  Sort of like a prevention.  The boy liked what he did...he didn't want to be kicked off the job.  Or worse.  That was why he needed to take these days.  Prevention...hopefully that meant outside the Principia, too.  Hiding out in his boyfriend's arms would keep issues at bay.  That was just the way it worked.  Jack was one of the few people that could keep Elijah calm-like and not-murderous.  And since the only other person had moved to the city, Jack was Elijah's only option.

Mumbling obscenities, in English and Latin, Elijah stomped out of his room and through the hall to the main room of the Principia.  One of the good things about combat boots was that they made stomping and storming very easy.  Especially in a frightening way.  Not that Elijah had to rely on combat boots to be frightening.  They just helped.  Not bothering to see if Calix was in the main room, the boy made his way to the door, still mumbling obscenities.  He pushed open the heavy door (Calix had to be there if the doors were unlocked) and faced the bright and sunny day.  It was getting warm out...not too warm just yet, and this was probably around the time of day it would be warmest.  It wasn't too bad today, but Elijah was pretty sure he'd have to start cutting up jeans soon for the summer.  He had made it the past couple of summers in jeans, but it hadn't been too great.  The small boy figured he had some jeans he could make into cutoffs.  Shutting the door with the best slam he could manage, Elijah stormed away from the Principia, towards the barracks.

It was a mindless walk to the First Cohort barrack.  Well, the walk in general.  When River had been at camp, she was just beyond in the Second Cohort.  Elijah wasn't the type to think he was better than someone for whatever reason.  He didn't like some people, but he never thought he was better.  There were still the memories of high school peers who thought and acted that way...Elijah didn't ever want to be like that.  His best friend had been in the Second, his other best friend was his fellow Praetor, his sister was in the Third, and his boyfriend was in the First.  Elijah hadn't been a Praetor his whole time at camp, anyway.  Things were vastly different when the boy had arrived, and when the order had been reinstated, he had been named Centurion of the Third Cohort.  The point was, Elijah wasn't the type to think he was better than people.  And the fact that some people considered him like that made him sick.  Most people at camp didn't know about the son of Discordia's life in the mortal world, and if they did, they'd probably think very differently about him.  At least, that was what the boy liked to think.  He hated all the misconceptions there were of him.

Hoping to just sneak into the First barrack and find Jack there, Elijah kept his head down.  He didn't want to catch anyone else.  Praetor Emmanual had to keep the low profile that he was never good at keeping.  And the vibrant purple hair didn't help anything...most legionnaires had to know that they had a Praetor with purple hair like that.  Maybe he should have worn a hat.  Did he even have a hat?  No...the boy didn't think he had a hat here.  He was pretty sure he had never owned a hat.  Well...maybe when he was little, in the cold.  Without thinking, Elijah went to open the door of the barrack, but someone had already opened it and Elijah walked right into them.  At first the boy hoped it was Jack, though he quickly knew it wasn't.  "You're not Jack," he managed, backing up and looking at the tall and bulky guy.  Illicon...Legionnaire Illicon.  Elijah remembered him from his picture in his file.  Throwing his hands up frustratedly in the air, the boy snapped out in frustration.  "Bracchae!" he exclaimed, getting even more unhappy with his day.

Saar opened his mouth to apologise, but found himself cut off before he'd uttered a word. Blinking slowly, he closed it again, giving the boy a closer look. Why was he shouting about ancient trousers though? However, it was a very interesting choice for a swear word. Deciding that he might just steal it for future occurances, the blonde demigod gave a weak smile. Without a shadow of a doubt, the demigod sported the most aggressive hair he'd ever seen despite the legion-approved length. Saar had never seen such a powerful hair colour before, and stared in fascination for a few seconds; nineteen out of twenty people grew naturally black hair where he grew up, and anything else always stood out to him. Almost all attempts of dyeing their hair a fresh colour ended in disaster, and eventually most gave up. It took a braver man than Saar to dare a colour as rebellious as that, and he could respect that courage, if not the decision. With baggy jeans and a t-shirt, the tiny demigod looked almost out of place in the centre of a Roman military camp. Maybe he works in administration? Could explain why he's looking for Centurion Wheelan. Saar didn't have the greatest experiences with members of administration in the past; they always seemed to be trying to make his life a misery with bureaucratic nonsense and smug looks that matched their rude demeanours. His heart sunk as he realised he'd probably never be free from the paper-pushers, but mentally shrugged, trying to come to terms with it. If everyone did their duty, then they'd get along fine. Shirkers were next on the list of people Saar hated, right after those who disrespected authority, Roman authority to be precise though. Someone over in California had called all Romans "Bedsheet wearing, incestuous and deplorable pigs who feasted on the income of others." After a lively debate, Saar had broken his nose... and his jaw... and three fingers..

The purple-headed demigod certainly was frustrated, in a matter of fact, he appeared to be the epitome of frustration. From experience, Saar knew that when people were in that state, they tended to have a shorter fuse than normal, their patience thrown to the wind. Realising he'd done nothing to alleviate the demigod's frustration, letting the silence stretch on for far longer than it should, Saar cleared his throat with a low rumble. Would you perhaps be searching for Centurion Wheelan? Cicero had corrected his earlier misjudgement about the identity of their Centurion, but Saar had yet to meet his superior. I'm searching for him as well, perhaps we can pool our knowledge? Granted, mine is rather limited at the moment.

All things considered, Elijah had gotten much better at staying sane and not losing it out people.  It had been awhile since he had hit someone or broken any bones...it had only happened a few times at camp, which was much better than in the mortal world where he was getting in fights, or at least minor scuffles, a couple times a week.  And the boy didn't think it was entirely because his temper had cooled down, he just did a better job at managing it.  When he and Jack had been "broken up", Elijah was furious...mostly at himself.  He had punched the walls of his room until his knuckles were split open and ripped apart and bloody, and the walls were bloody as well.  Jack had helped the small boy paint the walls white again.  The blood was rather off-putting once things got back to normal.  The point was, even if the son of Discordia was in a bad mood or grumpy or frustrated or any of it, he wasn't going to lose it on the first person he crossed paths with.  Inside, the boy knew that Legionnaire Illicon didn't deserve his anger.  He didn't deserve Elijah being secretive or anything either, but the small boy didn't want to go into his relationship Jack with someone new.  He'd find out eventually, and he could question the politics all he wanted (was Jack just Centurion because of his Praetor boyfriend?) but Elijah didn't want to be around for any of that.

And then there was the hair.  When Elijah had first dyed his hair, back when he and Jack had first gotten back together, people had stared a lot at it.  It didn't make sense to see someone at a Roman camp with violently purple hair...especially a Praetor.  Neither Calix or Lúth had been too happy about the best man having purple hair for their wedding.  But Elijah was impulsive at best.  He had sent a faun with get the dye and almost forgot about it.  The day he had planned to say goodbye to Jack forever was the planned day to dye his hair...something new to bring in a new point of his life.  But things had ended up differently...he and Jack had gotten back together.  Elijah had dyed his hair anyway, because...well, why not?  It was something different.  He knew he'd get the strange looks, but Elijah had never been one to care much about those.  At this point, he really liked the purple, and he kept redying it.  People had mostly gotten used to it.  But running into a new legionnaire meant the hair got a thorough examination.  Right now, Elijah was very much not in the mood.  He didn't want to say anything about his hair, because it just wasn't important enough to bother making comments about.  At some point, someone in the First Cohort would explain all that little stuff...maybe Jack or Mia, probably.

As much as Elijah was trying not to hate, he was getting more and more grumpy by the moment.  Waving his hand impatiently, the boy nodded.  "Yes, Jack...Centurion Wheelan.  Whatever mood he's in, I guess," Elijah rolled his eyes, very unhappy that Jack wasn't just in the barrack.  He could be anywhere, really.  It wasn't like the small boy kept tabs on his boyfriend or anything.  For all he knew, Jack was in the Principia looking for him (though they probably would have crossed paths, if that was the case).  Now there was a legionnaire who had no idea who Elijah was or why he was looking for Jack, and the whole thing was just more than the small boy wanted to deal with.  He just wanted to be relaxing with Jack, forgetting about the paperwork and the troubles coming up in the Principia.  Did trouble just follow the son of Discordia or something?  That was a silly question.  Of course trouble would follow a child of Discordia.  That was one of his mother's specialities, of course.  Still unsure of how to deal with Legionnaire Illicon, Elijah quickly tried to run through possibilities in his head.  Physical violence was not an option, so that one had to go quickly.  He could introduce himself.  He could play along (because it was kind of funny).  He could excuse himself and go back to...somewhere?  There were so many other options, most of them just not very nice.  Elijah knew he had to do the mature thing, though.  Act his age, act like a Praetor...all that.

With a sigh, Elijah thought about the next question.  "Well he's not going to find me, or I would have seen him," he said with a slight huff.  "So that's one possibility out.  And I doubt he's in the library, since he tends to avoid it unless I'm forcing him there," the boy was sort of just thinking out loud...subconsciously he knew it would be confusing to anyone listening in who didn't know who Elijah was, or who he was in the context of knowing Jack.  "He rarely goes into the woods without me...he hasn't been to the Greek side in ages, last I heard," the boy continued to muse.  Elijah didn't really want to be mean...but it was kind of just the boy's personality.  He was abrasive and nasty and a total pain.  But that was just how his bad side was.  He had his good traits too, of course, but he didn't feel kind or anything at the moment.  He felt ready to scream and tell Legionnaire Illicon to go away because Elijah needed Jack the most right now.

"Well, Legionnaire Illicon, the most likely place to find Jack would probably be the sound, but you'll have to excuse me for wanting to get to him before you," Elijah had used the other boy's name...of course.  Now he would know he was dealing with someone higher up.  The small boy didn't especially want to deal with the Praetor thing.  It was obviously too late for that, though.  All hopes of getting to Jack were pretty much shot by now.  He'd have to deal with a legionnaire when he really didn't want to, and by the time he got to see Jack he'd be a complete mess.  There would possibly be a little radiating in the next few hours.  Or a lot.  Elijah didn't exactly want to think about it either way.  A Machiavellian complex (the boy felt stuck in one of those most of the time in general, let alone in a very specific situation)...the boy had to behave and not get angry.  He could already feel the chaos swirling inside him, wanting to come out.  The son of Discordia was getting better at chaos control, and even with the risk of appearing crazy, the boy shut his eyes and mumbled to himself in Latin, trying to keep the chaos inside.  It wasn't ideal to keep it contained to his own inside, but it was much better than letting it out and having it effect people when they didn't deserve it.  Legionnaire Illicon didn't deserve it...and Elijah had to keep himself in check.

Saar eyed the smaller demigod warily, with absolutely no clue how as to how the guy was going to respond. There seemed to be an equal chance of the purple haired boy exploding in a fit of rage, and of smiling and giving him a hug. He'd only ever seen a rare few people who managed to convey both aspects at once, and neither encounters had turned out well. It was a little like the look in his father's eyes when Saar first stood up to him; the man wasn't sure whether he should be proud, or furious. Spoiler alert: he'd chosen furious. There were two big "friend groups" back in his high school, and when one of them tried to convince the big guy to join their's, he'd flatly refused. The boy had only made it up to Saar's chin, but a dangerous glint in the guy's eyes foreshadowed his order to attack. It was one of the few times Saar ever struck first, but the bulky demigod had made sure that it would be the only time he had to. Saar didn't fight to prove his skills were greater, he fought to dismantle any sort of violent thoughts aimed in his direction permanently. He fought to win. When he'd clapped the shorter boy on the shoulder, pretending to change his mind, he also brought his knee up with a sickening crunch, and the fight was over before it had begun. That hadn't stopped Saar stepping on the fallen boy's fingers as he span on his heels, leaving the way he came. The bulky demigod always crushed the feeling of victory that rose in his throat when he fought, knowing that when violence was involved, everyone lost. That never stopped that dark part of him from enjoying the sensation of knowing he had won. Saar had a distaste for needless violence, but he was always ready for it. It was part of his nature in a way; you couldn't compete on any level if you weren't willing to do what it took to eliminate an opponent who was trying to do the same to you. It was like the Roman Republic who'd done what had to be done to protect their borders, and if that meant they'd made wider borders with whole nations as buffers, so be it. They saw a potential threat, and they eliminated it, that was what had made Rome so strong.

The small boy's choice of words were rather peculiar though, and the danger didn't seem to have passed by any means. What did it matter what mood the  Centurion was in? The man had a duty to do, a responsibility to his cohort and all the Romans, and if he slacked off or refused, Saar would make sure it didn't happen again, one way or another. The wide-shouldered demigod was a little confused though, if the short demigod had important business with the Centurion, surely he'd know where the man was? Wouldn't they have arranged a meeting point? If it was something that Legionnaire Wheelan wasn't aware of, then the next place to check would have been his current assignment, and by the look of him, the boy had access to it. Saar stood silently, ticking off the places in his head, though truthfully he hadn't memorised the layout of camp yet. The blonde demigod was rather odd when it came to navigation; give him a map and you'll never get lost, but the problem was Saar always forgot what every location looked like, so it was like exploring a new area each and every time. No matter how good at navigation you were, there was only so much you could do when you didn't recognise anything. There was something off about how he talked about each place though... when the smaller boy mentioned each one, he dropped a small clue as to Centurion Wheelan's attitude towards each place, and how it was somehow linked to his own. Perhaps he was the Centurion's personal aide or his secretary? Did Centurions have those? Probably not though... especially in a camp this size. Perhaps he was his sibling? No. An old friend? Praetor? Who knew? Well, probably most people...

Keeping every expression off his face, he wore the mask he'd gotten used to wearing, the "resolute" expression that some people said made him look like a duck. The small boy knew his name. Every single thought and judgement rose to the forefront of Saar's mind, and for a fraction of a second, his mask cracked. Conclusions were made and jumped to, the worse of every scenario was imagined; already, this innocent demigod was being turned into the most corrupt bureaucrat he could imagine. There was nothing positive he could contribute in the search at all, so the purple haired boy's suggestion was as good as any... Purple hair? How could he have missed the significance of that! Rome's imperial colour was purple. Only the highest were allowed to wear it at all! It is all different here though, purple is the norm, everyone wears purple shirts. Perhaps it was just a sign of patriotism; a sign for the whole world to see his passion and devotion to Camp Jupiter... One no bureaucrat would ever indulge in... As quickly as the dark thoughts had arrived, they'd vanished, replaced with a burning curiosity to know the real reason behind the hair colour. For all Saar knew, it could have been gifted as an honour for exemplary service, or perhaps as a mark of shame, so he stood out in the crowds, but then purple wouldn't be used... Not once did it occur to the huge demigod that it might have simply been a personal choice.

It didn't seem like the short demigod was going to introduce himself, and that in itself rubbed against Saar the wrong way. Unless the boy had something to hide, there was no harm in mentioning one's name to a fellow legionnaire... unless he wasn't? Or unless he was wise enough to reserve his trust on newcomers for longer than two sentences. Almost growling at frustration at the circles he was running around in his mind, Saar's brows furrowed together in a frown. He knows my name though... whoever the demigod was, he was important enough to have seen his file or record in the few hours Saar had been here. Not any intern or aide would have that responsibility... Praetor? But why would he want to get to Wheelan first? It slowly came clicking together: the frustration or anger, the haste, the need to find him without the Centurion knowledge, the fact that Saar probably shouldn't be there... whatever Jack had done, the blonde demigod hoped that the short man in front of him would inflict justice. Saar almost wanted to offer his help in getting through the woods, but he knew it wouldn't be appreciated whatsoever. He did want to get another tour of camp though... Would you mind if I escorted you to the gates then? It would help me familiarise myself around camp.

This was getting more and more absurd.  Elijah felt his hands ball into fists, trying to stay sane.  Praetors didn't punch people.  Well, that Praetor did...but he had to be more careful about the things he did.  One of these days, people would pick up on the fact that their Praetor was a bit dangerous and he'd be kicked from his post.  And Elijah liked being a Praetor.  There were odd hours and lots of paperwork, but it all gave the boy a sense of purpose.  Back in the mortal world, the small boy would never have thought about being a leader.  He hated everyone from school, his father and step-mother didn't give a damn.  Student council was a joke, as far as Elijah was concerned.  Leaders in general, it was all a joke.  But that wasn't how it was at camp.  He and Calix were actual leaders.  There were no adults pulling strings, or suggesting what they do, or have the ultimate say.  Elijah and Calix were the ultimate say (along with the Centurions, at times).  But that meant the son of Discordia had to be on good behavior.  He hadn't hurt anyone in awhile...there had been a time of punching walls, but that was just walls.  He and Jack painted the walls white over the bloody streaks and that was that.

Legionnaire Illicon was much larger than Elijah...built bigger and muscly looking.  That wouldn't be an issue in the mortal world.  The boy had faced down plenty of much bigger football players.  It was almost a laugh how easily he could take them down.  Sure, the boy had had his share of black eyes and split lips, but it was nothing compared to sending football players to the ER for stitches.  The Praetor was dangerous, and he knew it.  But Legionnaire Illicon could be anyone...he could be just as dangerous as Elijah.  If that was the case, the small boy really didn't want to risk it.  As much as he was itching to throw a punch, he just didn't want to deal with the aftermath.  But it was just so tempting.  "I would mind...but if you must," the small boy didn't want to deal with all of this.  All he wanted was his boyfriend.  He didn't want to be dealing with a new legionnaire.  Especially one who obviously didn't know who Elijah was.  It wasn't like the boy was a celebrity, or wanted everyone to know who he was, but he was a Praetor, and new legionnaires should know what their Praetors looked like.  As he mulled things over, Elijah realized he was definitely in a bad mood, and it was definitely showing.  And that he shouldn't be treating a legionnaire like this.  With a heavy huff, the boy looked over.

"I shouldn't..." well, there was lots that Elijah shouldn't do.  He should be a jerk.  He shouldn't treat a legionnaire like this.  He should introduce himself.  Actually, he should have done that from the start.  Glancing at the taller demigods through frustrated eyes, Elijah frowned.  "Legionnaire Illicon, Praetor Elijah Emmanual," he stuck out his hand for a handshake.  Handshakes seemed so stupid.  The small boy remembered his father teaching him how to give a good handshake.  Nice and firm, Elijah.  A limp handshake implies someone can take advantage of you...that you're weak.  Elijah wasn't sure if he put much stock into that, but he had a strong grip and a strong presence.  "I promise I have no bad will with Jack...with Centurion Wheelan.  He's my boyfriend, and I just wanted to see him," the boy was pretty sure he still sounded grumpy and moody, but hopefully an explanation would make things a little clearer.  Not that it mattered...it seemed Elijah couldn't shake Legionnaire Illicon.  Apparently he needed to speak with Jack as well?  Maybe he thought Elijah had bad intentions and was trying to keep his Centurion safe.  Well hopefully that was all cleared up.

But the other boy was still staring at his hair.  Elijah didn't like that...he understood that dying his hair purple was a big thing, and no one else at camp had bright purple hair, but it was still sort of frustrating.  People stared, but it felt like Legionnaire Illicon was mesmerized by it.  It was just purple hair!  Maybe the other boy hadn't seen anyone in the mortal world with purple hair.  Maybe he hadn't been in the mortal world at all.  It really wasn't a big deal...well, not anymore.  Neither Calix nor Lúth had been too happy about the boy having purple hair for the wedding, and it took awhile for Jack to get used to, but it was fine now.  Maybe that was why Elijah didn't like someone looking at it so much.  It had just become a part of who Elijah was.  He really liked the purple hair, and it was staying for now.  The small boy knew he made a crazy first impression.  Purple hair, bright blue eyes with makeup, rings on every fingers, tight clothing (thanks to Venus) and heavy combat boots.  And the chaotic anger that exuded from him.  Elijah knew he could be a bit intimidating...frightening, even.  Maybe not, especially at camp, but he had to give off some degree of danger.  And all those rumors were scarily accurate...

Ready to just storm off and leave the legionnaire behind, to find Jack for himself, Elijah tried to figure out how to act appropriately.  Storming off was probably not appropriate.  But Elijah wasn't in a sharing mood.  He wanted Jack.  He had set out to find Jack.  He did not want a legionnaire on his trail, whether he needed to speak with Jack or not.  The way Elijah saw it, Jack could be Centurion Wheelan after he was Elijah's boyfriend.  Sometimes the son of Venus needed Elijah to be a boyfriend before a Praetor.  It definitely worked in reverse (or so, Elijah figured).  As far as Elijah was concerned, Jack was a great Centurion.  He was passionate and caring and helpful.  Sure, he spent most nights in the Principia with the son of Discordia, but he was available most of the daytime.  Unless he was out, like now.  Elijah and Jack had been together long enough...they had both changed a lot over the past year and couple months.  But Jack had evolved from a rather giant jerk to a very likable person.  In Elijah's opinion, anyway...and the boy figured that was the most important opinion of all.  Looking back to Legionnaire Illicon, the small boy sighed softly.  "So...whatever, I guess."

Saar wasn't quite sure what it was he'd said, but the man was growing more irate by the moment; casually noting the balled fists, the blonde demigod wondered if his time at camp was going to be a repeat of high school. The idea was so absurd, it almost made him chuckle, but knowing that wasn't going to be healthy for his career or his face, Saar held it in. He thought he'd left all that bigotry and judgement behind, joining the one place that should be the example to the rest of the world, the paragon of integrity that other communities should model and themselves after and aspire to. The figure in front of him look like he'd just stepped out of a poster for a heavy metal band; the tight clothes, the rings, the hair... Not that there was anything wrong with that stereotype, it just wasn't normally associated with virtue. If this man was one of the leaders of Camp Jupiter, there had to be a reason though. Something that outweighed his smaller stature, that outweighed his shoddy people skills. Well, there was something about him, the way he held himself, that confidence in his own skill that made it seem like the guy's size didn't factor into his ability. Maybe he was really good with paper, while his fellow Praetor dealt with people instead? Zeus knows someone has to do it... But then why would he be the one searching for Centurion Wheelan? The short demigod's grumpy reply only strengthened Saar's belief that the guy was definitely not in PR.

At last, he had a name to put to the blue eyed face, and a title to boot. Giving himself a little pat on the back for his suspicions, Saar extended his hand without thinking. He normally toned down his grip a little, people often complained that his massive paw of a hand crushed their own. The bulky demigod's fist almost enveloped Elijah's, and he was a little surprised that the Praetor gave as good as he got. Having a sneaking suspicion that the handshake was a metaphor for his whole being, Saar stepped back smartly, giving the Praetor his space. He did wonder why Elijah had left him in the dark for so long though, it seemed a little out of character for a Praetor to do so, especially if he was acting on official business. The tall demigod almost felt pity for his Centurion; whatever he'd done to get the Praetor so agitated mustn't have been good, and the man looked like he was ready to exact vengeance upon the foolish demigod that rubbed him the wrong way. Elijah's next words proved Saar just how wrong he was with that assumption though, he couldn't have been further off the mark in a matter of fact, but the first thought that went through his head was "rubbed him the wrong way, hah." He shrugged to himself, you can't get 'em all right, be satisfied with a fifty/fifty split. But the corner of his mind that drove his competitiveness would never be satisfied with such a low percentage. What other assumption had he made? The hair... Nope, not the right topic to pursue right now, or probably ever to be honest, but it seemed more like the colour was a badge of honour with every second that passed.

Forcing himself to think of something else, it occurred to Saar that there was most likely a very good reason the Praetor hadn't introduced himself, or at least, a good reason from Elijah's perspective. He didn't want to be noticed or seen doing something he shouldn't be... "Rubbed the wrong way, hah." He probably gave up realising that it was insanely easy to describe the short demigod's appearance to someone else. Was it suspicious that the Praetor was sneaking out to be with his boyfriend? Yes. Was it even more suspicious he didn't want company? Yes. Perhaps he was just pretending to look for Jack, when in actuality he knew exactly where the Centurion was, after all, he was Praetor and he knew these things. Besides, they probably arranged it themselves, with  Elijah using his Praetorial powers to sneak it under the radar. As far as Saar knew, relationships within the original legions had been forbidden, but every soldier was male back then, and homosexuality was frowned down upon back then anyway, so it might have simply been that. So many different factors... He is Praetor, so what he says, goes. Perhaps he made it legal? But then why is he so edgy? It must be because he's doing something that he didn't want anyone to know about, even the other Praetor. It wasn't quite midday yet, and Elijah had to be abandoning his duties. The tall demigod narrowed his eyes as the thought struck him cold. Did the camp have a dirty Praetor? If it did, then Saar had to do his duty, and expose Elijah himself. Duty always came first. Always.

There was no way someone so physically agitated about something, that their tics were clear and obvious, would readily admit to possibly breaking the rules, especially if it involved abandoning one's post. Elijah might be tough, but that certainly wasn't enough to become Praetor; you had to be smart and cunning as well, which was what made the prospect of a corrupt Praetor so terrifying. There was no chance he would have slipped up so easily though, he could have given absolutely any reason at all, and Saar would have believed him. Elijah was the Praetor after all, what reason had he to doubt his claims? Exactly what a corrupt Praetor would want us to think though... Sighing, the smaller demigod seemed to acquiesce to Saar's presence, catching the tall demigod by surprise. He was fully ready to insist on accompanying him as far as the gates, but the grudging acceptance only threw matters into deeper confusion. You must be very patriotic. Not everyone would carry the mark of Rome so boldly. I am impressed. His words were a deep rumble, slow and precisely placed, like they always were. Two in one; his statement was as much of a test on Elijah's personality, as it was a question to appease his own curiosity. There was no doubt as to what mark Saar was referring to, plus, it was required to be sharp and quick thinking to qualify as Praetor. If the boy had to ask what Saar was talking about, then there were definite problems with Elijah being Praetor. Glad that his face betrayed nothing of his thoughts, Saar hid behind the mask he'd worn so often growing up.