gambler: percy jackson²

003

in which; the water cannon
gets up everyone's nose.

Minho liked war games. Scratch that, he loved war games.

But it seemed that in Camp Jupiter's current state, he never really got to participate anymore. Minho was being dragged in so many different directions all sense of a normal schedule had been ripped at the seams. He was out of Camp more often than not, following up clues regarding Jason's whereabouts.

And in the few games Minho was present for, he often ended up on Eagle duty. As head trainer, Minho was normally circling overhead with the beasts, ready to swoop and catch legionnaires tumbling off fortress walls or even air-lift them to the medic stations. But something was twisting in his stomach, the kind of nerves he found himself with before a good fight or spar. Something interesting was going to happen, he could feel it.

So instead of saddling up onto an eagle and strapping the leather safeguards onto his arms (being carried by giant eagle talons without skin guards was not a good idea), Minho gave Poppy a wave, and gestured back to his cohort, looking ready for battle rather than eagle riding. She just gave him a nod and a smile, strapping on her own leather safeguards and looking very glad to be doing something other than sitting around with the second cohort as they torment the other legionnaires.

Minho assessed the fort while tugging the straps of his breastplate tighter. The gold armour was dull and so darn heavy, but due to the legion's habit of stabbing people in the liver, he'd learnt it was best to wear it.

The Field of Mars was where they held all war games, it was the largest, flattest part of the valley, grass was cropped short by all the unicorns, bulls, and homeless fauns that grazed there during the day. Strewn around the open field were reminders of past games- stone walls littered with acidic holes from death ball, the occasional scrap of forgotten equipment and even a few misplaced bathroom breaks from Hannibal the elephant. Earth permanently scarred with trenches and marreded with small creators from explosions, the field of mars was a treacherous place for those who didn't understand one misstep could result with you plunged into a pit of a) acidic water that made you tingly like pop rocks for a week, b) quicksand or c) just regular pits.

Minho made a mental note that even if he wasn't completely sure on Percy's alignment with New Rome (Reyna clearly wasn't fond of him and Minho had learnt to trust her judgement over the years) he wasn't going to let Percy fend for himself and possibly drop into an old defence trench filled with acid water. Even if Percy was older than most new recruits, he was still a baby by legion standards.

So Minho checked the straps on his armour for him, maybe tugging them a tad harder than necessary- just to make sure they don't come undone, no other reason. Impressively, his armour was lined up properly, grieves chainmail and all. "Don't think this is your first time in armour, Jackson."

"Huh?" Percy asked dumbly and Minho could see there wasn't a single thought behind those sea-green eyes, like a goldfish. No thoughts, head empty. Minho bit back another one of those smiles Percy had a habit of pulling from him and instead slipped the helmet over his messy black hair. "You're geared up perfectly, not a thing outta' place."

"Lucky- it took weeks of Minho dressing me before I even remembered how to tie the armour straps." Hazel muttered, twisting awkwardly to attach her spartha to her belt under the armour she wore.

"Really?" Frank asked, head tilted in confusion. Minho hadn't been hanging around Hazel as much by the time she'd managed to reel in Frank, but from what Minho knew, he picked up on the whole roman-military-army concept quickly, except the speaking in turn part.

Not that the fifth cohort held much military structure to begin with, the whole legion beating down on them meant they were all pretty casual amongst themselves, and occasions like siege war games made them all fell a bit closer, walking off the field with no medals and soaked clothes- but at least they could argue about who had the best wipeout (and therefore first bathhouse privileges).