@shepraetor | c o n t i n u e d…
As both oldest of Cabin 4 and Head Counselor, Katie is extremely prone to worrying as a new mother might, especially when it comes to loved ones. Friends, family, or even a boyfriend, makes no difference to her, so she doesn’t even pause to consider that Reyna is Roman, when giving her a concerned hug.
Though she is still learning about Reyna, still learning about her culture and Roman customs, she considers the praetor to be among friends and allies. She helped aid them in a war that could have turned Greek against Roman, spilling blood and resulting in the loss of even more life, and that is enough means to trust her in Katie’s opinion. She understands that there must be a lot of responsibilities shouldered as a praetor, more so than a Head Counselor, and maybe one day, they could talk about more personal matters if she so wished.
A smile creeps onto Katie’s lips as Reyna gives her a pat on the back. Perhaps she should have been a little more careful, since she’s used to others not being quite comfortable with such contact, and realizes ( not too late, but later than she would have liked, certainly ) that maybe she should have allowed Reyna to extend the contact first. Reyna reminds her of Annabeth, in a way, with the careful tact and each move that she decides includes all possibilities in mind.
“Good! I’m glad to hear that!” Katie replies, relieved to see that it seems that Reyna’s words ring true, as the others are still trying to find them. “I guess that they never knew that plants and flowers can be used as weapons, too.”
Tendrils of vines coil around Katie’s feet, ready to lash out like a whip if needed. Thorn-lined flowers and stems are ready to fly as if darts. Thin scratches, already healing, are on her arms and the palms of her hands, while nutrient enriched soil smeared on her knees. But there’s still a slight inkling of something else in her tone --- almost like exasperation --- in her tone, too.
The source of her exasperation, it turns out, is in the form of a disgruntled Karpoi to Katie’s left. With chubby cheeks puffed out in a pout, arms folded across its bare chest, and the brittle wings flitting in an angry twitch, the Karpoi looks like a sulking toddler, throwing a temper tantrum for some reason unknown. Katie knows far better than to provoke the grain spirit further, but she can’t, for the life of her, figure out why the feeling of ill will is there in the first place; surely, if it hadn’t wanted to be summoned, it didn’t have to be?
“…I couldn’t have done all of it without the help of Oats, here.” Katie finally adds, perhaps a little too generously, as she nods towards the grain spirit in question. Perhaps this acknowledgment would help it’s mood.
With something akin to a disgruntled ‘hmph!’, canine-like teeth are bared towards Katie ( after all, it’s her mother’s Roman form that cultivated these once wild creatures ) and Reyna. The effect, rather than being frightening, is a very odd mixture of a sneer and a smile. Oats seems to think that no gratitude at all would be better than this indirect way of saying thanks. Katie isn’t sure if that’s the case or not, but before she can even ask, a half-glare, half-stare, is tossed in the direction of the two girls. And then, almost melodramatically so, Oats disappears into a mini whirlwind of dried oatmeal.
