#;lethe

[oniichan-lets-rp--archived]

"Saltwater or freshwater... how many bottles of beer do I have back home... I need to buy something for the big guy..."

[unculturedroman-is-moving-blog]

Through My Fault | charmingpipes | CLOSED

The last attack from those damned Venti really took a toll on the hull of Leo’s precious Argo II, so this clearly called for an emergency landing even with an imminent apocalypse not far away. Jason knew it was necessary, so he saw no reason to object. He sat on the edge of the prow, not far from Festus’ head. He could hear the metallic clinks and creaks that almost sounded like complaints from the dragon, but Jason always felt far more clear headed when he could sit as close to the sky as possible. The ground was looming closer and the landscape was becoming rather detailed—some deserted island, it seemed. However, he was suspicious of this island being anything but what it seemed. The last thing he needed it to be was Themyscira or something…

Jason jumped from the ship, letting himself plummet to the ground at high descending speeds. When he was roughly one hundred feet from the ground, he tugged hard in his gut, leveling himself out just in time. The rush was exciting—something he couldn’t always indulge in at Camp Jupiter. Before he planted his feet on the ground, he hovered slightly and inspected the sand, almost expecting Gaea’s face to appear. All seemed well, so he summoned a lightning bolt with the tip of his gladius as the receiving end to signal all was well.

Eventually, the Argo II was finally docked, the calm ocean swaying it as Leo anchored it down off shore and began to work. Annabeth and Percy were lounging about in the water, the son of Poseidon performing silly waterworks as if it were impressive. Frank and Hazel scouted about like true Romans, their curiosity apparent as Frank went in search of local life—never know what you’ll find and be able to manipulate later. All that was left was Jason and Piper, though he didn’t see her anywhere. With his gladius still drawn out, Jason began to practice his formations.

Unbreakable, steady, forward, lunges, structure—these were Roman ways of fighting; this was what felt right. Electricity crackled off the tip of his blade, filling the air with an ominous hum with every swing. Sometimes he threw a kick in here and there, something he picked up from the Graeci. Before he knew it, he was already breaking a sweat, but this was good—he longed to practice for quite a while. However, he knew Percy and Frank deserved some rest. It was up to him to keep himself ready for whatever came next. The Venti were his fault, after all. If only he’d been a little faster…