Post by echoe on Jun 2, 2011 14:26:33 GMT -7
Artemis was undoubtedly having a bad time 'fitting in,' as it were, though he didn't really care for the 2nd Legion, or anyone there, so that didn't help too much. He'd been told that it was because he was new to the demigod lifestyle, and that if he didn't pull himself together he wouldn't stand a chance, which was all very well if you happened to be a mindless idiot without any idea of the meaning of the term 'common sense.'
That was three years ago and he still hadn't become accustomed to it. It was too much like military school for his liking, though ten times worse, and he hadn't even thought that to be possible. Kids who shoot lightning, talking animals, training several times a day and purple shirts were just too much for him to bear. It was a little depressing as well, walking past all of the large, beautifully designed buildings and Greek dorms, to a cluster of tents on the outskirts of the wooded area surrounding the campus. Comparing the comfortable, luxurious bunk beds to his own horrid 'cot,' as they called it, was torture in itself, really. What gave them and the demititans the right, anyway? He'd last slept in a cot when he was two years old, for goodness sake. To be given one ten years later was simply insulting.
Despite the academy's claims, it seemed perfectly prejudiced to him, though this assumption seemed controversial even as he thought it.
So there he was, sitting on the floor of the Minerva tent, absent mindedly plucking the strings of the acoustic guitar that he'd 'borrowed' from the unsuspecting Apollo kids. Well, calling them kids was an obvious understatement, as he himself was one of the only children that were still young enough to pass as kids, though that wasn't the point.
Taking it had been surprisingly simple, requiring little or no thought as to how to get in and out unnoticed, as the security was apparently non-existent. Besides, the people there seemed more intent on training than music, so they hadn't seemed to realize that one of their guitars had disappeared. It was a shame, really, that discipline and respect seemed to be everything to these people.
Artemis sighed, banishing the thoughts to the back of his mind. Dwelling on the past and fairness was not getting him anywhere, and especially when he had better things to do, like homework, for example. At least the academy had introduced some normal activities to the Romans, as he was hopeless with all of the complex and unnecessary formations that they had to practice constantly. Even so, Artemis wasn't about to rush to get the essay done. Personally, he couldn't care less about the significance of the demigods in WWII, and he had absolutely no intention of recovering the papers from the bin in the library. It was alright for the teacher, she wasn't hyperactive and didn't have dyslexia, though this was a poor excuse as he'd been asked to do it in Latin, and not English.
Life sucked, so he had resorted to music as it seemed to be the thing that kept him sane. A lot had happened to Artemis over the years, and music seemed to be the only thing that was always there no matter what. The one thing that stayed constant in a world of change. Just sitting there with the weight of the guitar in his hands seemed to calm him in a manner that most would probably associate with the Apollo kids, but there was nothing to say that he couldn't do it, so Artemis quite happily concentrated on his hand movements as they stumbled across the chords, creating a surprisingly good sounding version of Bryan Adams' 'Summer of '69.'
That was three years ago and he still hadn't become accustomed to it. It was too much like military school for his liking, though ten times worse, and he hadn't even thought that to be possible. Kids who shoot lightning, talking animals, training several times a day and purple shirts were just too much for him to bear. It was a little depressing as well, walking past all of the large, beautifully designed buildings and Greek dorms, to a cluster of tents on the outskirts of the wooded area surrounding the campus. Comparing the comfortable, luxurious bunk beds to his own horrid 'cot,' as they called it, was torture in itself, really. What gave them and the demititans the right, anyway? He'd last slept in a cot when he was two years old, for goodness sake. To be given one ten years later was simply insulting.
Despite the academy's claims, it seemed perfectly prejudiced to him, though this assumption seemed controversial even as he thought it.
So there he was, sitting on the floor of the Minerva tent, absent mindedly plucking the strings of the acoustic guitar that he'd 'borrowed' from the unsuspecting Apollo kids. Well, calling them kids was an obvious understatement, as he himself was one of the only children that were still young enough to pass as kids, though that wasn't the point.
Taking it had been surprisingly simple, requiring little or no thought as to how to get in and out unnoticed, as the security was apparently non-existent. Besides, the people there seemed more intent on training than music, so they hadn't seemed to realize that one of their guitars had disappeared. It was a shame, really, that discipline and respect seemed to be everything to these people.
Artemis sighed, banishing the thoughts to the back of his mind. Dwelling on the past and fairness was not getting him anywhere, and especially when he had better things to do, like homework, for example. At least the academy had introduced some normal activities to the Romans, as he was hopeless with all of the complex and unnecessary formations that they had to practice constantly. Even so, Artemis wasn't about to rush to get the essay done. Personally, he couldn't care less about the significance of the demigods in WWII, and he had absolutely no intention of recovering the papers from the bin in the library. It was alright for the teacher, she wasn't hyperactive and didn't have dyslexia, though this was a poor excuse as he'd been asked to do it in Latin, and not English.
Life sucked, so he had resorted to music as it seemed to be the thing that kept him sane. A lot had happened to Artemis over the years, and music seemed to be the only thing that was always there no matter what. The one thing that stayed constant in a world of change. Just sitting there with the weight of the guitar in his hands seemed to calm him in a manner that most would probably associate with the Apollo kids, but there was nothing to say that he couldn't do it, so Artemis quite happily concentrated on his hand movements as they stumbled across the chords, creating a surprisingly good sounding version of Bryan Adams' 'Summer of '69.'