Writer’s Month Day 15: First time
Fandom: PJO
So my memories of the books are very, very bad. I read the books the week they came out years ago and never reread them again. So I’m sorry for the inaccuracies.
kinda like a part two to Day 14, Fairy Tale except it’s not finished and will probably be changed when I upload it onto ao3.
First time oversleeping a nap and this is what happens. The Greeks visited. Percy was judo flipped by his girlfriend. New Rome was attacked. And Octavian was right. Oh dear gods, Octavian was right. The Greeks were dangerous. Why the fuck must the Greeks prove Octavian right? Now he’s never going to shut up.
The cannons rocking the ground is what wakes him up and the distant screaming is what spurs him into action. In ten seconds he is out of barracks with his dagger and grappling hook to find New Rome under attack by a flying ship.
His head hurts for some reason looking at the ship wrecking ruins to his beloved camp. It feels like betrayal and if Octavian ever catches wind of that thought, he'll be cast out.
He runs towards New Rome, but he can tell he’s not going to make it. It’s getting ready to take off. Two people are dangling from a ladder. A dragon, Frank he realizes dishearteningly, is guarding their ascend from objects. Objects probably thrown by their people. What’s going on? Why is Frank helping the enemy?
By the time he makes it to New Rome, the ship is starting its ascend. In a few minutes, it will be gone entirely.
“Where’s Reyna?” he asks at the circle gathered in the ruined square. It isn’t hard to see Percy and Hazel are gone as well as Frank. Jason too, but he completely pushes that fact out of his mind. Camp comes first, everything else second.
“Oh, look, the little graecus is still here,” Octavian sneers and Connor bristles.
“I am a Roman, you asshole,” he snarls, taking a step towards the blond skeleton.
Dakota places a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Not now, he mouths, Later, we’ll beat up Octavian together.
Connor bites his cheeks and backs down, asking again “Where’s Reyna?”
“We don’t know,” someone behind Octavian answers with an ugly face. It twists and becomes a thousand times even more unflattering. “Maybe your Greek friends did something to her.”
“The eagles?” he asks, ignoring the not really subtle accusation. He’s Roman. His allegiance is with the Romans. Ignore them. Ignore them all.
“Not here yet,” Dakota says, “And if they don’t get here soon, the ship will get away.”
Connor looks at the cobblestone blasted into pieces, at the fires burning the building down, at the civilians and retired legionaries uncomprehending of what just happened, and at the ship where three, four of their comrades voluntarily protected.
“No, it won’t,” Connor says. They’re not going to get away. They have to pay for this. They have to fix this. “I’ll stop it.”
A person to Octavian’s right snorts. “You?”
He ignores that too.
Everybody gets something out of being in the legion. Experience. Friends. Weapons. For Jason, he got a versatile coin. For Reyna, she got a wicked spear. And for him, his magic grappling hook. It is linked to his mind. Through his willpower alone, it can travel any distance, for however long, disregarding any air resistance, to reach its goal as long as he visualizes it correctly. Everybody made fun of him for having such a sucky weapon but guess who’s laughing now?
“I’ll shoot my grappling hook at the railing and get to the controls,” he says, eyeing the distance, the speed the ship is going, where he needs to aim. (Don’t do this.)
“You don’t have to do this,” Dakota says, “I can do it. I’m better at hand at hand combat.”
“I’m faster,” he counters, ignoring the doubting voice telling him it wasn’t said out of concern for his safety, “Don’t worry, guys. I’ll get the ship down.”
Nobody looks convinced but then again nobody ever believes in him.
Octavian steps in his way. “How do we know you’re not leaving to join them?”
“I’m not.” He shoves past the son of Apollo, but Octavian is persistent, latching a hand onto his wrist.
“But how do we know? You’re a graecus, just like them. As we all can see, it didn’t take much for Percy and Jason to left us for the graeci. How are you any different?”
Because I’m willing to die to prove my loyalty. But Octavian is never one for words. Only actions mean anything to him and Connor whirls around so they’re face to face. He hates how Octavian is taller by a few inches. He hates how he has to crane his neck back a bit. He probably doesn’t look too threatening, like this. Still he squares his shoulder and straighten his back.
“How about this?” He plucks one of the rope from his grappling hook and tie one end to his wrist. “I promise on the God of Truth, on Apollo’s name, your father, that I am loyal to Camp Jupiter. But if I am untrue to my camp then let my dishonesty prick my wrist and dye the rope red. When that happens you can tug the string on your end and pull me off the ship to die.” And he shoves the other end into Octavian’s waiting hands. “Feel better now?” he mocks behind a smirk, the rope heavy around his wrist.
Octavian’s wiry fingers close around the rope and his gauntly face lifts into a smile. “I’ll hold you to it, Connor.”
He can see Dakota’s face open in horror at giving Octavian any sort of control over life in his greasy hands. But if this is the price to pay to finally get Mr. Pointy Finger and his accusing gang off his back then so be it. (You shouldn’t have done this.)
He looks back up at the ship, makes a few calculations (don’t do this), raises his hook (come on, think about what you’re doing), does a few more calculations (someone is waiting for you), steadies his hand (don’t shoot), and shoot.
