New Blood ((Marisol))

Saar sucked in a huge breath of air, hands pushed against his waist, sweat carving tracks through the grime that covered his face before leaping to the ground. Whoever had invented the "suicide drill" was truly and utterly evil, but whoever had figured that people could do multiple back to back was the devil. Especially when exercises were thrown in at every stop. Rolling out his shoulders the Roman grabbed the rest of his gear, and began the long trek back to the Barracks. Well, it wasn't actually that far, it just felt that way when your legs decided to be jelly. Saar'd been experimenting and had thrown crunches into the mix to test it out, and probably pushed himself a bit too hard today. Every hundred metres or so, he stopped to stretch out his muscles, making sure they wouldn't cramp up. His legs were going to hurt tomorrow, but that's what he got for not being fit enough to handle the change. Taking the weekend off had been a mistake. The blonde demigod made his way to the door and stopped, leaning against the wall beside it. Pulling his ankle up behind his back, Saar felt the stretch along the front of his thighs. Sighing a release of air and dropping his foot slowly, finally satisfied he'd still be able to train tomorrow, he pushed his way into the building, pausing in the doorway to let his eyes adjust, before heading over to his bunk. With a sigh, he unclipped the metal breastplate and let it fall onto the immaculately made bedding. Piece by piece, he removed his armour and arranged it in order to be cleaned after his shower.

Gathering his towel and a fresh change of clothes, he begun to make his way past the rows of familiar bunks... and stopped. Something was different, one of the bunks looked different. A very specific bunk, the one opposite his own... Eyeing the offending bed in question, Saar frowned. Turning, he counted the occupied bunks, one, Calix, two, Mia, three, Jack, four, him... five, Cero? He blinked. There hadn't been five people living in the First Cohort since, since Cicero left. That was where the descendant of Torquatas had slept as well... had he returned? Saar was aching to investigate further and look into the belongings to verify his best friend's reappearance, but that wasn't who he was. The blonde demigod could no more violate someone's privacy than he could turn down a reading of Plautus' comedies. He was just going to have to wait. It had been months, a few more minutes couldn't hurt. Turning back, he continued on to the showers to rinse the sweat and dirt from his body. It was only going to be a quick, cold one, just to get the worst of the day's exertions off in time for evening muster and dinner at the Mess Hall. Plus, it was super invigorating. The freezing water shocked the body back into action and forced the mind clear of the clouds of weariness that had settled. The long, warm one came right before lights out. Drying himself off hastily, Saar threw on a sleeveless white T-Shirt and a pair of large grey cargo pants. Folding the towel and the filthy clothes, Saar grabbed a bucket and filled it with water from the sink. Crossing the Barracks, he placed the sweat stained belongings in a basket beneath his bed. Pulling out a well-loved rag and a bottle of cleaning oil, the blonde demigod began the process of bringing the metal back to a shine. He didn't mind, it gave him time to think and reflect on the day. If things had gone badly, it gave him time to calm down and pull himself together. In this case, time to think rationally about the newcomer/returner and not flip his lid. Saar wasn't sure what had hurt more, the fact the Cero had left without saying goodbye, or that he hadn't trusted Saar enough to let him know what was going on. Either way, Saar had failed. He should have known his friend wasn't acting right and helped. It was a responsibility of a Roman to step in and lift some of the burden off of another’s’ shoulders when they needed it. It was the responsibility of a friend.

Pride rippled through Arí as she carefully positioned her partisan spear in the weaponry closet located in the First Cohort. It had taken a few days for it to ship from Spain, but the wait had been worth it, and she felt even more confident in the arena with the familiar feeling of it in her hands. Sure, she appreciated how waiting for her partisan to arrive had given her the chance to practice with a gladius since sword fighting was a useful skill to have, but her skill with a sword was not as refined as her skill with her spear or bow. The two weapons just felt right in her hands, as if she had all the power in the world, and the girl had found herself more practiced with a rapier in comparison to a gladius anyway. Not that a rapier would help her in a battle since the blade was so thin, but she had spent more time around rapiers in her childhood due to her fencing classes. But even then, she would prefer to use her partisan any day.

After the door to the weaponry closet had been closed carefully, Arí returned to her bed to brush her hair that was still a bit damp from her shower. She toweled her hair in an effort to dry it completely, but gave up after a few minutes with an irritated sigh and instead folded the towel neatly and hung it over one of the sides of her bed so that it could dry. Once that had been taken care of, the brunette ran her brush through her hair a few times before placing her brush on her pillow and searched for her blue trench coat. After pulling it on, the girl steeled herself before heading out into the slightly chilly air outside, hoping that her damp hair wouldn't cause her to catch a cold. That would be exceedingly unhelpful for the young girl...

The sun was beginning to go through its last few phases of setting, the remaining rays it left behind shining down on Camp Jupiter 2.0 and bathing it in a saturated, melancholic glow that nearly took Arí's breath away. She quickly hurried on her way towards the library, hoping that it would still be open for a few hours so that she could check out a few books to take back with her to the barracks. When she arrived at the entrance to the library, she sighed faintly to herself in relief when she pulled on the door and found that yes, they were in fact still open. After she had greeted the few librarians seated behind the front desk, Arí was on her way to the theater section in search of the works of Seneca...and perhaps Plautus, if she felt like it.

Twenty-five minutes went by, and Arí formally exited the library in high spirits, three books carefully cradled against her chest as she made her way back to First Cohort: Octavia by Seneca, Casina by Plautus, and an Italian book on grammar so that she could study. Pleased with what she had found, and quite intrigued with the reading she would look forward to after a long training session, or a particularly busy day, the Spanish girl allowed herself a small smile. Within a few minutes, she had reached the First Cohort once again and walked through the doors to find the barracks exactly how she had left it...except for the significantly tall and muscular man who appeared to be in the process of shining his armor in the bed across from hers.

If he were in the barracks, then he was obviously another member of the First Cohort, and technically one of Arí's roommates, though she didn't recall ever seeing him before. "Good evening." She greeted the other politely. Arí moved towards her bed to set down her three new books before turning to formally address the man on the other bed and curtsied as she spoke. "I'm Marísol Castillá, a returning legionnaire. However, you may call me Arí if you wish. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." If they were to be in the same cohort, there wasn't any point in waiting to see if she trusted him enough to approach her by her nickname. If you were in a Cohort with someone, you stuck with them regardless and looked out for each other against all costs. That was one of the first lessons Arí had learned from the original Camp Jupiter, and it made more sense to drop the formalities now rather than later in her mind.

((Haha sorry, meeting newcomers always reminds me of how articulate Saar is not xD))

Saar looked up, the barracks door opening to reveal a legionnaire wrapped in a blue trenchcoat, one he wasn't sure he'd seen before. The blonde demigod tended to head to bed early and rise before the grey light of dawn trickled through the Cohort windows. She greeted him formally, and her words echoed through his mind, bringing him back nearly two years to when he'd first arrived. The blonde demigod's own words had struck him as eerily similar in approach. Saar had believed he was looking at the Centurion at the time, and perhaps Mari thought the same way since she'd called him sir. He blanched for a moment, realising the cycle that had just come full circle. History tended to repeat itself, and if this woman was who she claimed to be, perhaps something promising could come out of the meeting. Saar couldn't help but feel he was neglecting one crucial thing...

Standing up, the Roman returned her formality with his own, bowing to the brown haired girl. Reaching out a hand to clasp wrist to wrist, the blonde demigod replied with his standard measured pacing, each clause carefully crafted and each syllable specifically spoken. A pleasure. Sarpedon Illicon, Legionnaire of the First. Friends call me Saar. He knew the game, they both did. Romans weren't judgemental per say, but impressions were important, they had standards to maintain and if you let them slip it was a sign of slacking discipline. And that was something to be concerned about, after all, such habits had a powerful ripple effect. It could influence others into adopting lax behaviours in others that could then develop into habits eventually and weaken the foundations of the Roman value system from within. Once the door was opened, it was nigh impossible to close, so one had to keep a wary eye out for it. Saar's back was ramrod straight, his grip firm, his gaze steady, and his armour shining. He recalled first meeting Cicero, and seeing the set, determined expression across the teen's face. It was a face that didn't need to shout or claim, it merely whispered "I am discipline. I am control. I am Roman." He wondered if he came across the same way, if, to Marisol he embodied those values. Saar wasn't sure what was scarier, the idea that she did, or didn't. The latter meant he didn't do a good enough job, he wasn't able to lead the new wave of Romans towards the ideal Roman state of mind by example. The former was far worse though. Saar knew his weaknesses, his flaws, his mistakes, even if he refused to utter them out loud or really even in his mind. He knew he was slipping, he knew thoughts and doubts that he hadn't previously possessed had been creeping in when he wasn't looking. After all, Cicero had embodied virtus. Proper, true, Roman virtus. Well, at least seemed to do so, and he had left.  O yeah, that's what he'd been neglecting. If things were as cyclical as Saar honestly believed they were, then was that what fate had in store for him? Was he to join Cero in self-exile? There had to be another way, another answer, another destiny. As much as he'd loved, and still did, Cero, his brother in soul if not in name or blood, he could not do the same. He could not abandon Rome, not now, not ever. Especially not after having failed already... His ice blue eyes dropped to the newly arrived books, jumping to the only conclusion anyone could make at this point. Welcome to Camp Jupiter and the First Cohort Ari.

Had he not hesitated with the new girl, Daelia? Had he not wished for an excuse to do other than what his duty demanded? Saar refused to let any of the turmoil reveal itself on his face. He'd gotten good at that over the years.

But Cero had left, and he'd done nothing to stop it. Weren't Cohort members supposed to stick with each other? Weren't they supposed to help each other up and strive against the world together? Saar had thought so. Cero had made it possible to believe so. His departure had instead revealed how hollow that belief had been. The blonde demigod hadn't gotten close to any of the others in the Cohort. He often felt like he was the only one around. So much for sticking together.

Maybe things could be different now, maybe things could return to how they should be. Returning his arm to its customary assignment behind his back, Saar's eyes flicked back down to the books for a moment, something familiar having been clawing at the corner of his eye. His draw almost dropped as he read the title. Someone else read Seneca? That certainly was a surprise; after his encounter with the Irish girl in the Third, the Roman had lost a lot of faith in the sway ancient literature had over the modern demigod. It had felt like such a critical blow, there was so much to be learnt from studying the texts, so much crucial knowledge that could prevent the same mistakes from being repeated over and over again. A smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth, reaching his eyes instead: respect for the newcomer who read Seneca in her own time. You have good taste. I do not know many who would pull Seneca from the Library. Damned if he'd let her know he was impressed though, that was reserved for another time.

Marisol tipped her head to the side ever so slightly, politely interested in the brief moment of silence that followed her introduction where the man in front of her appeared to be in deep thought over something she was unaware of. She wasn't on edge, but rather felt an unfamiliar strain of curiosity probe her thoughts in response to his quiet demeanor. Suddenly, as swiftly as the blink of an eye, he was responding and introducing himself to her in a manner fit for a legionnaire of Rome. The exchange was so sudden in fact that Marisol was left wondering if she had imagined his initially quiet assessment of her introduction. However, she wasn't allowed the luxury of musing to herself for too long, for Saar, as he called himself, was now bowing and offering his hand for her to shake. Marisol glanced at his hand and then his face.

There was something unknown brewing within his inner psyche...though his eyes did not give away what exactly, they did make that fact apparent. His actions revealed that of someone who was very much familiar with Roman etiquette and was by no means unwilling to uphold that Roman standard to its highest. His posture and overall response to her introduction made that much clear, and Marisol found herself offering a well mannered smirk to Saar as if it were a casual, albeit important inside joke between the two demigods, as she shook his hand in greeting. "Very well then, Saar." Marisol responded, her smirk giving way to a more genuine smile fit for an introduction to two legionnaires of the same Cohort. "I trust that we'll get along well." Marisol withdrew her hand after a moment. "I'm happy to be back." She smiled in response to his welcome.

Marisol watched Saar carefully, for he once again seemed to be pondering something to himself. He was subtle about it, definitely, but Marisol had a tendency to pay close attention to her peers upon meeting them. However, it appeared to her that there was a possibility of there being something closed off to his approach to her. As this thought crossed her mind, Marisol averted her gaze to her bed in the cohort out of respect to his inner thoughts and privacy and politely turned away to return to her belongings. Anything that he preferred not to speak with her directly was his own business, and it was not her place to infringe upon his privacy unless he granted her permission by speaking with her about whatever he could be going through his mind. Her train of thought was cut short by Saar's response to her choice in literature, specifically Seneca.

Pleasantly surprised, Marisol turned her gaze back to her fellow legionnaire, a faint hint of a curious smile on her face as she dipped her head to acknowledge his compliment on her taste in literature. "You've read Seneca as well?" She inquired. It wasn't often that she ran into another individual who was well-read in ancient theater, and it was always refreshing to her consciousness when she did so.

((I apologize for how late this is, and that my post is lackluster in quality )

((Wow, forgot about this one haha))

Ah, she was a returner as well. Darn, the cycle seemed to be even more entrenched than he could imagine: she seemed about the age he'd been upon arrival, she carried an aura of professionalism like the one Saar prided himself with, and she moved with the practiced ease of someone confident with their body and abilities. Saar believed with a fervent passion that history would always repeat itself for too few cared to learn from the mistakes of their forefathers. Sadly, many refused to pick up the knowledge their own failures and errors created. For some reason the Roman figured he wouldn't be so foolish; he thought perhaps his nonstop self-critique and examination in combination with his study of history gave him the necessary tools to avoid the pitfalls of falling into the traps sprung by those before him. If this story was to continue down the path it had last time, he'd end up betraying the Legion and deserting, leaving his brethren behind to struggle without his aid. One thing he refused to do was lie to himself. Denying that he'd felt the temptation to break free was wrong on far too many levels. The feeling would strike when he was at his weakest: at the midpoint of a large set where fatigue was setting in and the end seemed an odyssey away, at the grey of predawn as he staggered out of bed, at those long moments lost in Ronnie's eyes and a life together was all he could think of. Well, Saar wasn't entirely certain he qualified as a 'returner'; the boy had left almost a decade and a half ago when his parents decided to turn their backs on Rome's legacy. He hadn't made it into the service until making the long voyage back to America. Of course, the blonde demigod didn't know Ari's story. For all he knew she had a similar history. The thought of that chilled him to his bone, as if his destiny was prewritten to abandon those he'd sworn loyalty to, as Cicero Torquatas had done.  

No. Saar refused to be another Roman whose name instilled only a sense of bitterness and regret. He would not be a man the Romans would curse at night. He would not betray his comrades, he would not leave his friends behind like Cero. I am certain we will. He said that with full confidence it would come to be. It was not a mere prediction, it was an assertion of truth. Just as he had upon arrival, Ari held herself with dignity and respect to the Legion and Rome. He could feel it. Passion. Not many get sorted into the First. The Praetors have faith in you to - fill impossible shoes. Saar broke off for a moment, uncharacteristic. His pauses were never in the middle of a sentence. They were always gathered at the start, bunched together as he planned together every word meticulously. -live up to the expectations of the Cohort. Sitting back down, Saar grabbed his rag up again, rubbing it against the already gleaming metal.

His eye caught the top book of the pile, Octavia, of course written by the Stoic Seneca. There was much to learn from his philosophical teachings, however one had to be very careful with adjudicating the benefits as his most prominent student went on to become the most reviled Roman in history. His dramatic pieces, whilst in certain lights certainly not lighter, were of equally high quality. I would be a poor Roman if I had not. Besides, his work is far more interesting than the likes of Tacitus or either Pliny. Unfortunately, it is not as widely read as one would hope.   Damn. She liked Roman literature as well. This was awful. If there was any upside, perhaps he'd bump into Cero whilst wandering around in self-exile.